A Patient Pawn
by Nemo Crawley
Summary: At the height of the Woodvilles' power, Mary Woodville is used as the ultimate pawn that will bring the Lancastrians to their end. But the question remains: who'll she marry to meet the ends of her family's ambitions: Warwick, whose wife is dead and who wants Mary dead, Prince Edward of Lancaster, to be the pawn of another pawn, or Richard, Duke of Gloucester, to spite Warwick?
1. chapter 1

In the Year of our Lord, 1464

An early morning had dawned and the birds twittered in near distances as they had risen with the sun. Servants were already bustling with duties and various tasks they had to worry about before the rest of the household of Grafton Manor was to awaken.

But a mistress of the house had already been awake.

Little Mary Woodville had been looking for rocks to present to her brothers and later play with after breakfast. Wading in and out of the streaming river that ran shallowly over a muddy bed, she stepped boldly upon the mud and dirtied the hem of her skirts. But that was alright, she didn't mind it. As she inspected the river bed for any more rocks, her eye had been caught by a white one speckled with black and grey, which had previously been covered by sediments and mud. She bent down and swirled her hand in the water as she blindly searched for it.

But as she looked for it, Mary saw ripples forming on the river whose source had not been her hand, which she thought was odd. The river was moving, why would it be forming ripples? Then, she heard it. The source of the ripples.

Distant gallops began to sound in her ears and she knew it could not be her brothers, there were too many gallops that she could hear. It might as well be a whole army than the band of her brothers!

 _Army_ … the word latched onto her mind. What if it was the Yorkist army? She would be killed immediately for merely having Lancastrian relatives.

Mary's eyes widened in realisation and hastily tried to wade towards the shore. Why did she decide to go deeper into the river? She struggled against the strengthening current, as it pushed her along with it, dragging her farther from the shore than she liked. Her hands were becoming cold and her breaths were becoming shallow as the sound of the distant gallops drew closer and louder.

 _Who is coming?_

It took more of her efforts to reach the shore, slipping over a patch of slime in her endeavour to do so. She climbed on to the shore and hastily dried her hands as she heard the gallops approaching, her heart beating so fast and so loud she could no longer distinguish what was the beats of the horses and what was the beats of her heart.

 _Are they friend or foe?_

She hastily stripped off her wet stockings (smiling as she knew her mother would be greatly displeased at this notion) and pushed her chilling feet into her stiff boots. Hoisting up her skirts and pulling her hood over her head, she ran back to the Manor, hoping she could get there first. Her kirtle, drenched heavily in river water, pulled her down and caused her to trip several times. But it seemed her efforts were in vain, because the beats stopped. Their sounds lingered in the air, giving her an uneasy feeling about what could happening. Why hadn't she brought any of her brothers with her? Mary groaned to herself as she realised that she now has an inevitable lecturing by John. He would be greatly displeased at her venturing out alone. What would Anthony's reaction be? The questions began to swirl around her head, accumulating in her head like rain clouds gathering water.

 _Who is it that is coming? Are my family safe? Is anyone hurt?_

Mary swayed collapsed under her own weight (light as she was) and the raincloud let forth a colourful vision that burst behind her eyelids, a vision she couldn't understand, let alone comprehend.

Her sister, Elizabeth, was bedecked in the most sumptuous materials that could be offered: a cloak trimmed with the finest ermine fur that lay on a golden dress that must have costed more than Mary and her sisters' dowry combined. Her hair of honey spilt over her shoulders, free and unbound. And on top of those unbound waves, a - no, it couldn't be. That is not possible.

Mary stumbled out of the image, her head throbbing and confused at what she had just seen. That couldn't have been real, that was not possible. Why would her sister, of all people, be a queen? She couldn't have married Edward of Lancaster; she is far too old for him and of a lower status than him! What did it all mean?

She continued her run back to the Manor (as fast as her short legs could carry her and as far as sopping wet clothes would allow her to go), re-invigorated by the goal of discovering what had happened to her and what what she saw meant. It couldn't have been a dream; dreams aren't that violent! She tried to rationalise with herself as she endured her sprint back. As the Manor came into view, she began to slow down as she saw figures on horses. Two, to be exact. The sounds of the gallops she heard earlier had become much fainter, leading away from the estate.

She began just walking back, trying to size up the level of danger she had put herself in. As she approached, she let out a sigh of relief; both her mother and Elizabeth were there at the entrance, looking to be unharmed. Mother seemed to be at odds with an older looking man, who had salted ebony curls that was slick with sweat; while the golden haired one looked on in amusement at the exchange. Mary tried not to disturb their exchange and attempted to escape, but it seemed Fate was working against her today with her mother barring her escape with a simple raise of an arm, effectively stopping Mary's entrance. Mary bit her lip in annoyance and her body tensed in response. Despite that, her mother would not release her hold on her and instead gripped her arm tighter.

"Your highness, My lord," Mary' eyes widened (could one of these men be the king of England?) and could hear her mother saying, with a courtier's smile embossed upon her face, "I have not had the pleasure of introducing one of my daughters, Mary."

 _Dear Lord, if one of these men were the King, he must think that I am snobbing him and do not support him. Oh, how do I stay faithful to my Lancastrian heritage but survive in this York-run world?_

Mary turned stiffly and curtsied as gracefully as she could, knowing that her appearance was roughened by her morning tumble and swim, with her hair in disarray and her dress patched and drenched with mud at the hem. Not the best of first impressions to make. Mary might not have looked presentable enough, but she the best she could to fix her appearance when she came back up from her curtsy. She kept her eyes downwards as a sign of modesty (Remember Mary, children are to be seen, not heard), but it did not stop her anger flaring at the words of the older of the men.

"Another daughter, Lady Rivers? How many more are yet to come out from under your skirts?" A sneer could be heard following, no doubt from the elder man that Mary had earlier spied was at odds with her mother.

"More than the sons that you can sow, I am sure of it." Mary snapped in defense of her mother, whose hand immediately gripped her daughter's arm tighter in warning. At that sudden squeeze, Mary's head snapped up to her mother's and her brows creased in both anger and annoyance.

At that retaliation, the fair haired man laughed aloud and came down from his horse with a loud stomp and the cracking of the cobbled stones. "Now Warwick, you are losing your touch." Mary could hear the younger man's pointed tone and the raise of a quizzical brow. "How are you expecting to win over anyone at this point?"

As soon as Mary realised that she was talking to the Kingmaker, she dropped to a lower curtsy. "I am apologise profusely for my impudence, I meant no disrespect." Mary simpered, but she knew that the Earl could see clearly through her 'apology'.

A moment of silence passed before the flaxen-haired man (Mary later realised that this man had been the King) decided that he would like the drink that he had been offered earlier and was lead inside by Elizabeth, followed by Mary's mother. Mary sighed in relief at the release of her mother's grip on her and rubbed soothing circles at the sore place before turning to join her mother and sister entertain their most high profile guest to date.

With the intent of turning, Mary was about to follow, when she was halted by a sudden pull on her arm, at the sore spot that had just been assaulted by her own mother. "You watch your tongue and your back from now on, girl." the Earl of Warwick whispered threateningly to her, his diction emphasising on the last word. He began to point an intimidating finger in her face whilst his sharp gaze made sure to look into her own defiant gaze. Despite her age, Mary would not submit to him; her brothers taught her as much. "I'll let you go this time, simply because you amuse me but the next time, I will not be so lenient."

"If there will be a next time." Mary challenged and wrenched her arm away from Warwick with all her might, entering the Manor and feeling Warwick's eyes on her back.

* * *

Edited: 28/06/2018


	2. Chapter 2

Mary could not believe that she had the cheek to insult the Earl of Warwick. This is not something one can do and still live to tell the tale.

She paced around her bedroom as she waited until her mother was available to talk to. But she had still been in the dining hall the last time Mary had seen her, with Elizabeth and the fair-haired King Edward. She had been so sure that the King would come for a drink, she knew Lizzie was too beautiful to leave behind. What a joy it must be for her mother when she had found out that the King of England had been taken by Elizabeth's beauty, even if he hadn't said so himself. The way he looked at her, it was as if a man who had been wandering the desert had found an oasis to strengthen him. Any fool who was blind could see his infatuation.

Knowing Mother, she would already be matchmaking. She might even leave them alone without a chaperone.

Mary heard footsteps coming towards her bedchamber, too heavy to be one of her younger sisters and too light to be one of her brothers. Her heavy oak door heaved open, revealing her mother.

"Mary, I've come to talk to you." Mother's voice held much displeasure, as she walked into the bedchamber and made a move towards the bed to sit.

"I know, we are to talk about my behaviour towards the Kingmaker. " Mary moved towards her bed, knowing that she was to be here for a while. "It was inexcusable my behaviour, but," Mary hesitated and began again, this time in a slower and more unsure tone, "before I had gotten back to the Manor, I saw something I-I could hardly explain. Like it was a dream that could never happen: so unreal, but I was awake." She looked at her hands while they fidgeted, as her mind tried to grasp a way to be able to explain what she could not.

Mary felt the bed creak from beside her and felt her mother's weight close to her. She looked up to find her mother's sharp gaze upon her face. Mary did not expect to be taken seriously.

Her mother studied her curiously, her eyes of silver seemed to penetrate Mary's soul, eager to seek out answers. "What did you see?"

Mary began to fidget even more at what she saw, the ghost memory had still lingered. "I saw Lizzie being," she gulped," crowned queen."

There had been a moment of silence, as if the air had stilled at the ridiculous image that Mary had seen, almost treason for even suggesting that a commoner would be made queen. After all, Lizzie couldn't just marry a King, she'd have to be royalty first. The Kingmaker would not allow it; Lizzie would be dead first before making it down the aisle.

"What you saw," Her mother began carefully, "was a seeing; an image of the future."

Mary felt her face become white at what that implied.

Witchcraft... the ducking stool...

"Mother, what will that mean for me?" Her voice remained calm, despite the turmoil her feelings were embroiled in.

A giggle escaped her mother at the paleness of her daughter's pallor, knowing what she was thinking. "You will not die, my dear. You just have to learn to keep it to yourself and to control it."

Seeing that the fear on Mary's face had still not been wiped entirely, her mother sought to soothe her with her secret. "It is perfectly natural, my dear," she took one of Mary's hands and covered it with her own, "you are, after all, of my line."

Mother lifted Mary's face and let their eyes meet. "We are descended from the water goddess Melusine, so it should be of no surprise that you had a seeing."

There were heavy footsteps coming from downstairs, which seemed to be leading to the courtyard.

"I have got to go now, my dear." And she left, leaving Mary with a lot to think about but with a relieved heart.

_

The next time Mary had seen her mother had been the next morning, during which the whole family came together to break their fast and discussed what was to be done for the day, with Lord Rivers to be taking care of business matters. As the men would be preoccupied, Mother had decided that they could have the day to ourselves.

Today had been one of the few days of good weather and the sun was scintillating and felt warm against Mary's face, though the winds still nipped at her clothed skin.

Games were played, and there was rarely a moment of silence from the moment each game had started. Shrieks of delight rang through the air, the only sound that could probably be heard from miles around until hoof beats began to colour in to the air. Mary left the game as soon as she heard it and went to check the front yard to see who it might have been.

Of course, it couldn't be anyone else.

The King had arrived yet again and there was no question who he was here for. Mary dashed back to the group and caught in the exhilaration of the atmosphere, managed to giggle out, "Lizzie, Lizzie!"

It was only then did Mary get her attention. The impending beats meant the arrival of someone important and Lizzie didn't need Mary to tell her who it was. And she had made that clear. "Lizzie, it's-" Mary had been cut off before she could even say who it was.

"I know who it is."

There was a sudden change in demeanour, where a carefree mother had stood just moments ago, an insecure and nervous girl had taken her place. Mary saw that Lizzie began fidgeting with her skirts and fixed up her appearance before she even began to move into the Manor. Mother must have seen Lizzie because Mary realised later on that Mother's laughter had come to an end and that she had followed Mary straight into the Manor to greet the royal guest who had come to call.

But Mary, so shocked by the sudden change of personality in Lizzie, only registered that the pair had already gone in and that the enraged voice of her father began to echo in the Manor.

"Jacquetta!"

Mary hastened to the dining hall, where she found Lizzie had been greeted too familiarly by someone she had only just met, even if they were the King. It seemed so disturbing to see something like it, a public display of affection and by one of the royalty. It had seemed like a relief, a soothing tonic to Mary's parents that Lizzie and the King separated, albeit very reluctantly.

Mary could still see the eyebrows of her Mother still ceiling high, but her father managed to remain cool on the surface, deep down though, Mary knew he was furious at this inappropriate display. What father would not be? Especially now that Lizzie is consorting with the enemy. Mary's older brothers though did not even bother to try and hide their anger at what they saw. But Mary was not sure what they were really angry about: whether it was that their sister was friendly with the King or that it was just his mere presence that seemed to flare their tempers. After all, they had fought on different sides in the war. The tension in the air had been high and the sudden rushing in of excited children did not seem to make matters any better. Waved out of the room, the children fled and Mary was told to join them.

Disappointed at having to miss such entertainment, Mary took her leave but as soon as she left the threshold of the hall, she was hit with another vision.

 _A boar, whose fur was as black as the shadows it was running in and whose eyes were a piercing cerulean, was running carefully calculated steps through a dark forest full of hazards in the way. The path though was only going in one direction until it came at a crossroad. The boar didn't stop, instead it took a path before it even fully considered it and had fallen into a canyon, with the rivers at the bottom of the canyon running crimson waters._

Mary collapsed, her world spinning into a kaleidoscope of earthy colours.

\--

Hazy images was what she saw in the darkness, as if they were painted on black canvas.

 _Images of blood on feminine hands had been shown, a woman's hand with two wedding rings..._

A blurring reality was what Mary was greeted with. A very warm room, with blankets and furs piled upon her, engulfing her already willowy frame. A cool cloth upon her forehead. A small moan escaped her as she felt hot and cold and so tried to move to satisfy her body's craving for some sort of movement.

"Mary, don't move."

The commanding tone of her voice held an edge of threat and a plenty of concern for Mary's well being. She froze immediately as she saw her mother begin to approach her with a glass of water at hand.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel like I have been run over by all the horses in England."

Mother smirked at that, amused that even in sickness, Mary still retained a sharp tongue. But even amusement did not shield Mary from the interrogation that she was to be subjected to. Her mother sat at on a chair next to the bed, a grave expression upon her face.

"No one knows why you are ailing, but I know that you have seen something." Mary's mother tried to elicit something from Mary.

Unknown to her mother, arrows of fear seemed to volley at Mary's heart, her visions still scare her and what the visions themselves bore very dangerous information. No living being should ever have to see the future until that event has come to pass. The tenebrous shade of the boar's fur still vividly imprinted in her memory, the intense and steady stare of its eyes; they seemed to see right through her, see her for what she was...

"Mary." The assertive tone of her mother pushed her from the darkest recesses of her mind. She looked up to face her mother, as if she had only been properly aware now that her mother was in the room. "What did you see?" Each word had been forcefully punctuated to prove their importance.

"I-I," Mary stuttered. Her mind was blanking in fear and fatigue, her eyes beginning to water.

"Mary."

"Mother, I do not want to say." Mary's voice was waveringly final; she didn't want to defy her mother but she did not want to appear weak either.

"Mary, why will you not tell me?" Her mother wore an expression of worry. Worry at what Mary saw, worry at why she was reluctant to share it.

"Because it is dangerous." Mary whispered, her fear colouring into her tone. She looked straight at her mother, giving her her most serious face. "Mother you may think I am too young to understand the implications of what this may mean for my future, but I am old enough. This will mean disaster for us, to even glimpse at what is to come.

Mother I do not want to share it with you, not because I am being selfish which undoubtedly you are think of me now, but because I do not want any harm to come to our family."

Mary's mother was stunned at what she had just declared. The intention was so sincere, but then if information was kept, then it may also mean disaster to the family.

"Mary, I understand what you are trying to say. It is dangerous to have such knowledge, I am happy that you understand what it means to have such a gift, I am just hoping Lizzie will understand.

But you need to tell me, it may be important for the future of the family."

And that made Mary have second thoughts. "I-I," she wavered, "I saw a boar whose fur was ebony and eyes a piercing blue running, but he was running in the way that he was careful and sure of his path.

He came at a crossroads, but he didn't even stop to think of the consequences. He ran straight into a path and fell into his death. That was what I saw."

A few moments of silence passed, until Mary heard her mother's response to what she had seen.

"That was extraordinary, such detail. I do not think anyone in our family could see with such clarity."

"But what does it all mean, Mother?" Mary pressed to ask.

But her mother was already rushing to leave. "Mother."

Her mother stopped to look back at her. "What is it, dear?"

"You must not tell Lizzie what I saw of her. She will find out for herself."

"Very well. As you wish." And her mother left her again, making her feel more alone and quite alienated because of her newfound talent (or rather, her curse).

A/N: I had literally only just realised that the real life Mary Wydville was just eight years old in this year. So, I decided to make her just a year older to fit my purpose. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Did Mary really mean so little to her mother? Did Lizzie really take precedence now out of all of them? Was she really the most loved out of all of the children?

Mary pushed down her jealousy. These are very unchristian thoughts, it is very sinful to think of people that way, to be jealous.

But such things feel very daunting to a child, especially one that has been through a lot these past few days alone. And leaving them alone with such wild imagination is very dangerous. No one had come to visit her properly, apart from her mother and Anthony (even then he seemed very preoccupied) but it seemed to the rest of her family, she did not exist. No one else came to greet her, nothing exciting had occurred as she stayed in confinement until she was well enough to get up. It wasn't until the last day that she had received news that no doubt shocked her, but that she had expected.

"Mary, Mary!" Anthony had rushed in, a whirlwind that took her by surprise. She had not been expecting him this early.

"What is it? I didn't think you would come earlier than your usual time." Mary put down the bible she had been reading. "Why? Were you most impatient to see me?" She smiled teasingly, but it fell as soon as she saw the seriousness on Anthony's face.

"Brother? What has happened? Is something wrong?" She worried, wondering what event had she not seen. "Is it good news or bad news?"

The grave expression on his face darkened even more at the thought of his news. He did not have to tell her what kind, she would be the judge of it herself.

"Mary, Lizzie had just married. In secret."

"To whom, pray tell?" Mary asked, but she knew the answer deep down, afraid to acknowledge it.

"To who else?" Anthony threw his hands up in frustration. "The King."

"How did it happen? Tell me everything."

Anthony crossed her bedchamber to sit by her bedside and began to tell her. He started from when one occasion at lunch their Lady Mother had decided to switch the families' loyalty from Lancaster to York, declaring that should King Edward win, there will be many advantageous matches to be made for the many girls of the Rivers family. Their father, persuaded by that particular argument, asked her how they will proceed with their change of loyalties.

Their Lady Mother had suggested that the whole family (without Mary, too ill to get up) wave off the army on their way and also pledge some of their men and money for the campaign.

Mary's father had eventually gotten into an argument with Warwick, with Warwick being sceptical at what brought on the sudden change of sides, joking about how if they had scratched at the surface of the white rose, they would still find it bleeding red.

With that happening, Anthony had seen Lizzie slipping away with the King and had assumed this had been the time that they had planned to get married in secret in the local church. When that had taken place, Anthony could not say except that he was greatly distressed at what Lizzie had done.

"He had done this before, Mary. He had done it to another woman much younger than Lizzie, they had been secretly married so she says, but the whole ceremony was a scam. She had fallen pregnant, but he only acknowledged it as his bastard."

Mary could not express how shocked she was, at the impulsive action that her sister had done. But at least, she had the comfort of knowing what the result of this whole worrying will have: wealth, position and the advance of the Rivers family.

For the next few months of her life, life became a turbulent whirlwind of worrying for her sister's secret marriage (though she knew what eventual outcome would be) and trying to control the onslaught of visions that came onto her. It had been so very difficult, for Mary was only nine years of age. Her mother was too occupied with worry for Lizzie's reputation and her brother Anthony was too busy scowling about what Lizzie did. It was as if everyone was delicate with the royal matter, as if they were all afraid to talk about this subject.

It was in a few months that the men of the Rivers household were summoned, for an important anmouncement was to be made. Many speculated that the King will be announcing his engagement to Princess Bona When Lizzie had found out, Mary had found her sitting for hours on end by the windows, with hope in her eyes but tears streaming down her face as an indicative that another emotion is involved. Waiting for a sign that she may be publicly announced as queen, that she is the acknowledged wife of King Edward.

It must be such torture, to think about someone you love, thought Mary. She wondered what kind of man she would fall in love with in the future. But, then it is more likely that she will have to be betrothed to a knight of good fortune and favour.

But then it seemed fortune was smiling on Lizzie that day. A long awaited messenger had arrived and Lizzie had wasted no time in rushing down to the courtyard to get the message herself. Mary ran after Lizzie and watched her tear open the seal and scanned the first lines of the letter. Lizzie had sagged with relief and sank to the ground, crying tears of such hapoiness and relief.

This only meant one thing to Mary, that her first vision was coming to pass. But what did her others mean?

\--

The next day, Mary's day was hectic as seamstresses were ordering her to help with the measuring and sewing of her sister's growing wardrobe, for her presentation at court the following week. With the patterns of cloth assaulting her eyes, Mary quickly lost interest and became bored.

It had just so happened that her Lady Mother had mentioned sending Thomas and Richard to stay with relatives rather than grow up alongside the Royal children.

"No!" shouted Lizzie.

Mary felt her surroundings melt around her, with a vision that appeared:

Two young boys, fair haired and frightened, were backed into a corner of a cell being terrorised by a woman, whose face was shrouded by the darkness of her own shadow, in a severe crimson dress, with the boar that had haunted her visions before, as their keeper.

Mary felt herself being pulled back to the present, collapsing on the floor with a headache threatening to come. Her Lady Mother came to help Lizzie first, being the closest to her then ordered the servants to leave them. She then had gone to check on Mary, whose skin felt pale and clammy with cold sweat at what she had seen.

"What is it you had seen Mary?" Her mother quietly asked her. She had not noticed Lizzie looking at her with such ardent hate, burning so fiercely that its flames need only to be sparked to light. Of course Mary wouldn't notice, she was too caught up in what she had seen and the gravest of dangers she had witnessed.

"You must ask Lizzie first." Mary stared straight ahead, too traumatised to move an inch.

Lizzie did not need to be asked. "My boys, locked away." Her haunted whisper drew the warmth from the room and left a cold chill lingering in the air, seeping away any warmth.

"I had seen the same, but Lizzie, be warned," Mary looked up, forcing Lizzie to see the importance of her message, "If you do anything that might change the course of time or reveal to anyone else about what we can do, then something terrible will happen to us when we least expect it."

"Of course, sister." The conviction was clear in Lizzie's tone, but it made Mary wonder towards where was it convicted to: what Mary had said or whatever Lizzie was thinking of. She could not be certain, only that she was relieved that her conscience was clear of that worry.

_

As soon as Lizzie's wardrobe had been finished, they journeyed as soon as they could to Eltham Palace, where they would meet the King and their father and brothers.

The journey had been one blessed with good fortune, as it did not rain (only a slight drizzle) and no hindrances on the road. Without any barriers, Mary and her family were able to reach the palace quicker than expected. Of course, the Rivers boys had expected this and had awaited them at the gates of the palace compound. Earl Rivers had been the first to greet the party, with Lizzie rushing off her horse to hug him.

Not a moment was spared that the Earl did the same. Mary could only hear snippets of their conversations though.

"Do you give me your blessing, father?" Lizzie's voice whispered, sincerely wishing for her father's approval.

His reply was not surprising, for who was he to deny his daughter and the King? "Of course I do." A very advantageous match it had been. "You will always be my daughter no matter what. My little Elizabeth."

Mary felt tears pricking at her eyes, yet she stayed composed as ever. It never failed to hurt that the favour that her parents had, had fallen on her sister. It will never fail to cease, will it?

And as the Rivers girls were escorted to the palace front, with Lizzie leading the entourage, Mary continued to contemplate her worth to her parents. Will she be another pawn to advance this family's ambition?

King Edward greeted them, rather he greeted Lizzie, making an amorous display to subtly confirm that she had been his spouse. And as they made their way of their horses and up the palace staircase, Mary dared to look up from the ground, only to find eyes of cerulian piercing into her soul.

Mary let out a quiet gasp and immediately dropped her head as a sign of modesty. I've seen his eyes before, she thought quietly to herself.

And as she searched her mind, looking for any memory she'd had of them, she was pulled into memories of her vision.

The glistening of the tenebrous fur of the boar, whose eyes needled its way into her conscience and dreams. Its memory is freshly imprinted into her mind, like the tracks it had left behind.

"No," she whispered. Her vision caused her to lose her balance, stumbling on to the arms of Anthony.

"Are you well, sister?" The worry was clearly etched upon his face and Mary knew it would be very hard to try to hide whatever had just passed over her. So, she knew that she had to be frank about it.

"It was just a passing spell, because I've been sitting too long on the horse." Mary dismissed. She looked at Anthony to see if he had taken her word for what she said. But a look on his face, she knew that he was still skeptical about her claim.

"I am fine, Anthony honestly." She gave a wan smile, to try to persuade him. It must have been enough, or he must not have wanted to push her too far because he did not question her further.

"So be it. Come, let us take our place for the King's presentation of Lizzie."

And as Mary walked up the steps, careful not to step on her newly sewn skirts, she felt the searing presence of those blue eyes that haunt her so. Taking her place, she watched as the King presented Lizzie to the Earl of Warwick, as well as to his brothers. But Mary had been too far away to be able to hear their names.

"I present to you Queen Elizabeth, your undoubted queen." King Edward proclaimed proudly.

There came cheering and claps, with an underlying tension. A tangible tension of unease. A smile bloomed across Mary's mother's face at seeing her daughter take up the position that had once been her greatest friend's.

The crowd was moved, with relative ease, to the dining hall where the King and Lizzie had been sat at the front. Mary was sat with her sisters and the King' brothers opposite her. Next to her were the Neville girls, whom she later found out were called Isabel and Anne. Through her quiet demeanor, as they were being served their supper, she could hear Isabel commenting on how Lizzie and the King were not acting with the proper decorum, thus ruling out in Mary's mind that Isabel, daughter of the Earl of Warwick, was not a romantic.

In fact, she had acted far from it.

To Mary, she had acted cold and aloof, very much Warwick's daughter. Anne, on the other hand, was sweet and very naive. Mary could almost believe that she had been adopted by her father had she not seen the mask fall later when Lizzie had walked passed them later on.

George, the King's younger brother, Mary found very arrogant. She could not say more other than that and that he is very loud, he almost ruined Mary's peace of mind. And Richard... Mary stumbled upon her thoughts as she suddenly felt his probing gaze upon her form once more. His sharp eyes remind her so much of the boar in her dreams and visions... could it be that he is that very same boar, that the boar is a manifestation of him? He is too quiet for Mary's liking, only making an occasional response when Anne asks him a question and tries to make conversation or George needles him for some sort of response.

Once the dishes had been cleared away and the dining tables moved, the dances were announced to commence momentarily. Mary, prepared not to be asked aand prepared to also refuse politely, went off to sit in the corner of the hall so as to be able to escape from the treacherous battle that was the dancefloor.

She made to sit on a bench and kept her eyes firmly on the ground so as to avoid everyone else and their possible questions. But she did not expect that anyone would just thrust their hand to her face.

"Excuse me, that-" Mary stopped midsentence as she looked up to face her intruder, only to find the very man whom she had least expected see.

Mary bowed her head in acknowledgement and whispered, "My Lord. How may I be of service?"

"May I request your hand for this dance?" There was a hint of amusement in his tone of voice.

"I can't dance, my Lord." A white lie, she kicked herself for it.

"Are you sure, my Lady? I am sure that a lady of breeding such as yourself, should be able to dance."

He is goading you, insulting your family' status, Mary thought to herself. Her mind was in turmoil, her hand was itching to either take his hand or to slap the smirk on his face. Her pride would take a direct hit if she couldn't defend her honour. After all, she is her only Saviour (apart from the Almighty himself).

"I will only dance this dance with you and no more." And she took his hand, leading her to a territory that she was entirely unprepared for.

A/N: This may be my last chapter for the month, because I will be on an internet free holiday. I will be resuming my updates after the first week of February. 

Cheers

Nemo x


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Richard held onto Mary's hand lightly, leading her to the dance floor, as other couples began to assemble themselves in the required positions. They stood opposite each other, holding each other's scrutinising gaze. A moment passed when the conductor of the quartet signaled that the music was to start. The instruments came to life, filling the room with endless melodies. The couples bowed, but Mary and Richard kept each other's stares.

A slow dance had commenced, leaving a lot more breath for talking.

"Why had you asked me to dance? I should think that I am the least likeliest candidate to be lined up for your choices." Mary queried, her voice thick with childish curiosity Richard could not help but smirk.

"On the contrary, dear sister. You are one of the most likely candidates to be chosen." A hint of amusement began to creep on his face. "In fact with the marriage of your sister, you Rivers girls are a bigger catch for a wife."

"But, I doubt your mother approved of the marriage between your brother and my sister, since we are common Lancastrian folk." She spun around to meet him. "So what makes you think that she would approve of your association with me? It would offend her even more."

"I do not think that she would approve of my association with you, in fact I think she would be appalled, I should imagine that I would follow my brother's footsteps in rebelling against her and Warwick's plans." They tapped their feet together and joined hands with the parallel couple, to circle round.

Mary was not satisfied with his vague reply. She pushed for a proper response. "What is your real reason for asking me to dance? Because if you wanted more connections and an added wealth, you might as well marry one of the Neville girls."

Mary could hear his sudden intake of air as separated from the alternate couple to turn between the two of them. The front of their left arms were tightly pressed together as they turned against each other in a circle. His face angled to slightly face her, to tell her the truth.

"I have seen you before, in my dreams and nightmares. You haunt each image, each scene, though I have never seen you before this day." He whispered reluctantly.

Mary's heart pounded and her ears roared. How could that be?

"I feel as if you have bewitched me to see them," He continued to whisper.

They turned to walk up the aisle, taking the other's hand. "Are you accusing me of witchcraft, sir?" She tried to reply coyly, but there had been a subtle tremble in her voice. She prayed that he hadn't noticed. "I am only a child in people's eyes."

"Yes, a child in people's eyes, but underneath you hide something dangerous."

Mary tried not to look affected and trembling. "What would I be hiding?"

"I wouldn't know, that is for you to say." He answered vaguely.

The music had finished and they had both bowed to each other in acknowledgement of the end. Richard left as soon as he could, making his way over to his brother George, who was scowling at what he had seen. Mary was left standing there in shock for a moment, before she made her way out of the hall. It was becoming too stifling in there, she couldn't breathe with the number of people in there. She walked down the darkening hallway, as the music began to fade and found a stairway where she could sit without being disturbed.

It felt like too much, she doesn't want to be a part of this courtly life if she is going to have to shield half of herself and keep the rest of herself open for all to see. She might have fire in her, but Mary felt as if it were slowly starting to die down the longer her curse had stayed with her. She couldn't share it with anyone, except her mother and Lizzie. It felt like a secret so terrible it was becoming burdensome on her poor mind. What was she to do? She started to shiver, feeling the cold of staying too far away from the warmth of the great hall, which she felt was ironic because the coldness of courtly politics were what was felt most keenly there.

Mary felt a warm fur cloak engulf her slight frame and looked up to find Anthony staring down at her in concern. He came a few steps down the stairs and sat down next to her. "Mary, what is wrong?" He pursed his lips tightly in thought. "I had seen you leave the hall with a pale face and a confused expression. I really shouldn't think that you should hide whatever is weighing down on your mind. Tell me what is it you have been distressed about."

Mary thought for a while. She could not tell him of her curse, if she did, she will lose the only support she has in the family. Turmoil raged inside her, until she decided that she will tell him half the truth.

"I am so worried that I will never fit in and that I will be another pawn that has been made valuable to advance our family' fortunes. I do not want to have to bear that responsibility, but I know I will have to because our parents will wish it so." Her voice was quiet, infused with so much worry at having to bear such a task.

"Dear sister, it will be not only for our family but for you as well that you will be able to live comfortably for the rest of your life. It will be-"

Anthony was interrupted by a boisterous voice. "Ah!" A familiar voice said. They both turned towards the top of the stairs and found Warwick and his two daughters staring down at them, with an indiscernible gleam in his eye. It made Mary feel very uncomfortable, but she stood her ground and made to look indifferent. "Two of the Rivers' offspring. How very sweet." Warwick, with his two daughters in tow, descended the staircase and stopped at the foot to look back at them. "I hope you both enjoy the evening."

With that they left, but little Anne looked back at the two of them and waved back at them. Her older sister saw and nudged her to stop and move forward. At that, Anthony let out a chuckle. Mary was confused.

"Why are you laughing?" Mary asked.

"Because even at a young age, children of nobility are being poisoned with thoughts of hate towards their enemy." Anthony said sadly.

"And why is that a humorous thought to you?" Mary pressed on.

Anthony began to lose hold on the thread on their conversation and instead said, "You know Mary, Anne Neville is about your age yet she maintains the optimism that you seemed to have lost. Why is that?"

Mary gulped. "Because unlike her, I am growing up in the shadows of accomplished and established siblings. I have no credit for myself, I have no talent and no beauty like Lizzie's, I have no sizeable dowry to attract handsome and titled suitors." At Anthony's arched eyebrows, she amended herself. "Right, I now have a sizeable dowry. But where are the suitors?"

Anthony laughed at her childish confusion. "Why must you already be wanting for a husband? Dear sister, I do not want you to be married off yet. I will miss you dearly."

"Will you?" Mary rounded on him, furious. "Why would you miss me? When you so clearly enjoy Lizzie's company infinitely more than mine."

He sobered at that question and observed Mary closely. "Mary, I would miss you. Why wouldn't I?" He moved closer to her. "You are the only one who makes me feel like someone needs me. And while you may not be as beautiful as our dear old Lizzie," At that Mary giggled, "You are an unique type of beauty. Something..." He glanced around them for some inspiration of the words he was looking for. "wondrously beguiling."

"Anthony, you are just teasing me. Next, you are going to tell me that I will have to marry Warwick." She frowned in good-nature.

Anthony wrapped his arms around her and they clung to each other as they watched the waning shadows of the flames of the candles.

"No," He whispered. "I wouldn't want to tell you that."

That night, Mary fell into a fitful sleep. She had been tossing around her bed throughout the whole of her slumber. She had been plagued with nightmares (or visions, she could not tell the difference anymore) of wolves setting flames and attacking fair haired children in an unfamiliar abbey. The leader of the pack had caught sight of her and Mary was frozen on the spot, too petrified to move. The leader alerted its cub of her presence. It turned to her at once and began to run towards her, ultimately pouncing at her.

Mary awoke with a start, sweating profusely and tears leaking from her eyes uncontrollably. She could still feel the stinging of the scratches it gave her from the wolf's pounce. She threw off her covers at once and fetched her cloak for modesty. She had to get out of here, out of this room that felt so confining. She ran down the dark corridor with only a single candle to light her way. The moonlight illuminated the hallway and gave it an eerie glow that it reminded her too keenly of her terrifying ephialtes. It raised her heartbeat and she quickened her pace.

All around her, she felt as if the shadows were morphing into that of her night terrors, with some taking the shape of wolves. She hastened to make it to Anthony's chamber, with her finally collapsing in hysterics and her candle snuffed out.

Awoooo! Awoooo!

She stiffened at the sound and began to pound as hard as she could against Anthony's door in desperation. Silence met her plea for help. She pounded against the door again, tears of desperation over her cheeks.

Awoooo! Awoooo!

"Anthony, please let me in!" Mary cried, as she heard the cries of the wolf approaching. She pounded against the door once more. "Anthony, please!"

And, he opened the door for her. With that, the cries stop, only the whistling of the wind came. Mary couldn't stop weeping. Anthony dropped unto his knees and took her into his arms, as she wept incessantly on his shoulder.

"Mary, what has happened?" Anthony was met only with sobs. "Mary, you must tell me what has happened."

She couldn't stop, it was so difficult to stop crying. The images were still haunting her, it had manifested itself into a living nightmare.

"Mary," Anthony tried gently, "You are ruining my shift."

That stifled Mary's sobs. It made her feel terrible, that she had intruded on Anthony's privacy. She looked up at him to see if he was angry at her, only to find that he was staring at her in concern.

"Oh," She wiped her tears from her cheeks, "I am so sorry, Anthony. I do not know what came over me."

She knew that he could sense her lie, as she felt his probing gaze on her face. "Clearly Mary, it was not nothing. Why won't you tell me?" He pleaded.

She breathed in and out, trying to calm herself and working to build up her bravery to tell him. But she couldn't, so instead she said this: "Can you get our Lady Mother for me? She will want to hear this as well."

He obliged Mary her wish and made to move to the door. As he began to get his cloak and exit, she stopped him.

"Wait, I'll come with you. I don't want to be alone."

As they walked down the corridor, Mary made sure to hold Anthony's hand. It frightened her that it was only moments ago that she had heard the cries of the wolf here. She could feel the questioning glance of Anthony on her, as she began to press herself against him. She didn't want to be here, she didn't want to see these visions that are plaguing her. They plagued her waking hours, now they ransacked her hours of slumber. And she could not even begin to decipher what they meant and how they affected her.

The shadows began to elongate and form the shadows of wolves. Mary began to stiffen as her and Anthony made their way down to their Lady Mother's room.

It felt like eternity had passed before they made it to the doorstep of heir mother. Mary breathed a sigh of relief. Anthony knocked on the door three times before the door opened slightly, with her mother peeking out from behind the door.

"Anthony, Mary! What are you both doing up so late?" Her mother questioned, sleep still lining the contours of her face.

"Mother," Anthony said, "Mary wouldn't tell me what had happened to her. She came running to my chamber and I found her crying on my doorstep. She said that I should take her here so that she can tell you."

Their Lady Mother must have understood what that meant, because her eyes became alert. She opened the door wider and ushered them in. The room was dark, too full of shadows that she held onto Anthony's hand for longer until her mother had lighted all the candles in the room.

She sat on the fur rug, in front of the fireplace while Anthony had sat behind her. She leaned on him and watched the flames dance across the wooden logs, bathing in the warmth the fire offered. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what she had seen, Anthony watched her as the different emotions played out across her face.

Their Lady Mother had sat across them in a glossed oaken chair, and started.

"Anthony, you must understand something: whatever you hear from this evening, you must not share with anyone. Is that understood?" Their Lady Mother stared pointedly at him, trying to let him see how serious this was.

"Why? What is it I am about hear?" Anthony was skeptical in the face of what was about to be revealed to him.

"It is imperative you do not tell anyone, whatever you hear."

"If that is what you wish, mother."

Mary's mother turned to her. "Mary, what had you seen?"

Mary took a deep breath and Anthony's hand in hers as she collected her thoughts as the onslaught of images began to build up in her mind once more. "I had seen a pack of wolves that were ravaging an abbey. I can't place it in any of my memories, so I have never been there," Mary took a shaky breath. "I had seen the leader turn her eyes towards me-"

Their Lady Mother interrupted her with a curious glance. "Her? The leader of the pack was a she-wolf?"

"Yes. I do not know how I could tell, but it felt like she had a hardened feminine aura about her. She alerted her cub of my presence and he pounced at me." Mary shuddered. "I can still feel his claws at me."

Anthony started to get up, as he started to piece things in his mind. "Are these," he made a gesture with his hands, "seeings or visions the ones the are causing you to have fainting spells?"

Mary gulped as she dreaded this moment. "Yes, but I do not choose their moments. They choose me."

He became agitated at his own ignorance. "But it doesn't mean that you have to submit to them."

At that, Mary became silent as she questioned herself on why she had to succumb to such visions. Instead, their mother answered. "She is of my line, Anthony. We are descended from the water goddess Melusine."

Anthony looked affronted and a bit terrified. "What am I? A bastard?"

"No!" Their mother exclaimed. "I am not some common whore."

"Then what?" Anthony challenged. "Will I have these too? These cursed visions of the future, if that is what they are?"

"No, do not be ridiculous. Men cannot inherit this trait, only the female line. "

"Then, what can I do to help Mary? Will just keep getting them sporadically?" Anthony asked, dreading the answer.

"Yes, she will. But she will be able to control it as she grows older."

With that, their mother stood up from her chair and began to make her way to her bed. "I am tired Anthony, I need rest." She began to settle on her bed. "Bring Mary back to her chamber, I am sure that she is exhausted from her ordeal."

Anthony turned to Mary, who he found fast asleep on the fur rug. He sighed as he picked her up as he carried her to her bedchamber. She must have felt the movements because she woke up and asked him, "Where are you taking me?"

"I am taking you back to your bedchamber." At that, Mary widened her eyes and began to plead.

"Anthony, please do not take me back there. I will not be able to handle it."She whispered and he saw the haunted expression of her eyes.

"Then where will I take you?"

"Can I sleep in your chamber tonight instead? I would like to have someone hold my hand as I sleep." She asked quietly. She rarely requested for anything.

"That is alright."

When they made it back to his chamber, he began to set his fur rug at the floor next to the bed and took a covering from the bed itself and spread it over his makeshift bed. Mary removed her cloak and used it as her blanket and made her way to the side Anthony was sleeping closest to. She crawled on the bed and made herself comfortable, draping her cloak over herself, making sure to tuck her feet in. She held her hand over the edge and dangled it, allowing Anthony to take a hold on it.

The fire was beginning to die down and Mary felt her eyelids go heavy. She whispered, "Thank you, dearest brother. Pleasant dreams to you."

She did not hear his response. "You're welcome. I love you, dearest sister."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is dedicated to Lady Hallows

Chapter 5

A week since the vision had passed and the whole of London was astir. It is the 26th of May, in the Year of our Lord 1465 and that day had been the coronation of Elizabeth Wydeville. The streets were bustling, preparing to receive their anointed queen.

At the Tower, Mary had arisen early and prepared herself to be able to prepare her sister for her day. Mary and her sisters readied a steaming bath for Lizzie, scattering handfuls of rose petals into the bathwater. Lizzie entered the room in a thin robe that she removed before entering the bath. The Wydeville sisters sponged her skin clean and carefully dressed her, as if she were made of venetian glass. And as they draped her dress robes over her, Mary asked her, "Lizzie, are you afraid?"

Lizzie replied without an ounce of fear on her features. "Edward will help me know what to do."

Mary wished that she had the same sort of fearless trust in someone. "They say that the whole of London will be out."

"All except one." Lizzie replied. Mary's face contorted into a mask of confusion. "Edward's mother has refused to come."

Mary grinned and cheekily replied. "I don't think you will miss her."

Lizzie smiled as well. "It's one less foot to trip me up."

With that, they gathered their skirts and made their way out of the chamber. Outside, they found the King's brothers (Mary's breath hitched when she had seen Richard and avoided his stare), the Earl of Warwick and his two daughters Isabel and Anne. Mary saw that Anne had a look of awe on her face, but she couldn't tell why. She saw George come forward to her sister first.

"My new sister," She heard him simper. "You're as beautiful as a queen should be."

Richard came forward next. "I hope that your child is a son, so he may follow my brother on his throne." Mary couldn't look up for fear that she would melt once again in confusion following their puzzling conversation the week before. She kept her eyes stalwartly downwards in an attempted show of modesty.

"Thank you, Richard, George. I am grateful for your kinship." Mary looked up to see her surroundings and found Warwick looking bewildered at the display. Mary felt small gusts of air from her sister's hair. "Where… Where's Edward?" Lizzie sounded genuinely perplexed.

"At the Abbey." Warwick was amused by Lizzie's perplexed state, it was obvious to everyone in the room. "He is to watch the coronation from behind a screen, as is the custom."

With that, Mary felt her sister's optimism at Edward's support crumble within her. "My daughters will escort you. They have been trained for such occasions." Mary felt Warwick's confidence grow as he presented his daughters, who looked ready to serve.

"The Queen has her own sisters to attend her. Your daughters may join in the procession behind us." Mary felt her sister sigh in relief at her father's well timed entrance.

Lizzie and her father headed the procession to Lizzie's carriage. She heard her father soothing Lizzie's nerves. "Hold you head high, Elizabeth." He started. "God has chosen you in this and your brothers and I will be with you every step of the way."

The procession stopped and Mary heard her father whisper in pain, "But now, you are holding my arm too tightly and I may faint."

She saw Lizzie turning to him and saying, "You may not faint because I need you."

"You will always be my Elizabeth."

Mary felt the tears pricking on her eyes once more, jealous of her sister winning their parents' affections once more. She held her tears back and steeled herself as she and her sisters lifted the coronation robes to drape it across Lizzie's shoulders, feeling Richard's gaze burning against her back. Is he still haunted by my image? Mary wondered.

They made their way down the streets of London, showered with cheers and applauses (as well as the occasional rose petal). Mary was quite happy to be entitled to ride her own horse and she rode next to little Anne Neville.

"Hello, Anne." Mary said. "How are you finding today? It's a lovely morning, is it not?"

"Yes, it is. The Queen looks very beautiful." The look of awe once again returned to Anne's face. "I wish I could be as beautiful as her, so that Richard may notice me." She looked around her in optimistic wonderment.

Mary didn't know what to say, but it wasn't of any consequence. They had already arrived at Westminster Abbey.

She stepped down from her horse and stood, waiting for her sister's carriage to arrive at the foot of the carpet that she was to walk down. Anthony stood next to Mary, squeezing her hand in glee at the triumph of their sister.

She curtsied as her sister stepped down from her carriage. Anthony bowed low and eventually got to his knees to help remove Lizzie's shoes. He looked up at her and smiled at her encouragingly, once her shoes had been removed. Mary and her sisters helped to carry her train, as Lizzie was lead down the aisle by two bishops. She could see Warwick's sour expression and George's look of utter amusement. When they had reached their seats, Mary and her sisters let go of the train and sat down at their seats, pride for their sister glowing on their rosy cheeks.

Mary discreetly glanced around the Abbey hall. Richard and Thomas were nowhere to be seen. She looked across the aisle to where she found Anthony looking at her curiously. What are you looking for? He mouthed, exaggerating the movements of his mouth so that Mary may get the message.

Richard and Thomas. She communicated back.

Anthony looked confused. The Duke of Gloucester? He's here. He made a gesture to his front.

Mary rolled her eyes. Richard and Thomas Grey. She emphasised her pronunciation of 'Grey'.

Anthony shrugged and looked to Lizzie, sitting at the front with the sceptre and the orb already in her hands. Her face bore an expression of inexplicable triumph. The Bishop's voice rung heavily throughout the Abbey, "I present to you, Queen Elizabeth, your anointed queen."

The assembly stood to bow in acknowledgement of Lizzie's new status and as they stood up from their bows, Mary took a look at her sister and instead of being met with her vision from the year before, she found herself being sucked once more into a darkness that threatened to pull her in deep. She felt arms, strong arms steadying her, but she couldn't see them. She blindly searched for anything, but was met with tenebrosity. Her hands were met with cold wood, but her arms were held by warm skin.

"Anthony?" Mary whispered timidly, the fire she regained this morning was quenched. "Anthony, where are you?"

"Dear child," An ethereal voice spoke to her, instead of the soothing batione voice of her brother. "You are destined for more than you can see, you are destined for more than your sister. You are blessed with this gift; you are the most powerful of this line."

"Why can I not see you?" Mary was trembling, was this the Holy Ghost?

Her laugh was empyrean, Mary could not compare it to anything. A sudden gust of air flew past her, golden tendrils of her hair stuck against her pale face. What was she going to see? It terrified Mary, the unknown. But her fear was all for naught, for she was greeted by a woman so comely Mary felt as if she were dreaming. A slight smile was upon her lips, and heavy lids covered chartreuse eyes.

"You need not be afeard for your life, I am here to guide you." The woman waved her arm, a gesture that told Mary to come closer. "You have great potential in you, but also a terrible one."

The woman conjured visions of peace and turmoil. "You will be able to rise from your sister's shadow and carve your own path. But heed my warning. Your choices will have the capability of crippling this country or become this country's salvation, their beacon of hope." The visions vanished, along with the light that the woman had radiated, pushing her once again into the shadows. "Think on what I have said." By this time, she had been just a whisper; a wisp of a memory.

Mary felt her sight coming back to her, she could see that everyone had left the Abbey, with the exception of her mother and Anthony, who's arms she was still encapsulated in. "Mary?" Anthony whispered. They occupied the second pew, where Mary was laid across.

"Where is everyone?" Mary whispered.

Their Lady Mother's expression was grave. "They have all made their way back to the palace for the banquet to commence." She sighed. "What did you see, Mary?"

Mary thought of the mysterious woman. "I had seen a woman. She was so beautiful, she was unlike any other woman alive. She told me that I was destined for-" She choked on what she was to say. "That I was destined for more than my sister."

Her Lady Mother was intrigued by her statement and sensed that Mary had not told all. "What else did she say?"

Mary gulped. She did not like what she was about to say. "She said that my choices will have the capability of crippling this country or becoming this country's salvation."

Mary felt Anthony's arms tighten around her once more and she clutched his arm closer to her chest, she could not tell if she should be devastated at the destiny that awaits her or rejoice at the power that she possesses. She doesn't want it. But she has no choice but to bear it, a divine suffering like that of Paul's thorn. She watched her mother gathering her skirts to leave. "Come," declared her mother, "We do not want to be missed at the banquet."

Mary, along with the other nobles, made her way over to her seat at the banquet hall, with Anthony in another dining table watching her closely. She looked to be in high spirits, but inside she felt as if her insides were being ground. She found herself seated next to Richard and in front of George, who looked at all of her sisters in morbid fascination.

"You all look so very similar, you Rivers girls." He said. "You look like beautiful fish."

Mary did not know if she were to feel complimented or offended at that, it was a terrible compliment if it was one at all. She heard Isabel Neville try to apologise for George's horrendous attempt at flattery, but it was entertaining ("George does try to be so charming, but he doesn't always get it right!"). Richard stared at Mary while she tried to ignore him. "Are you well, my Lady?" He asked her quietly.

Mary's eyebrows shot up at what he had said. "Why should I not be? It is my sister's coronation, it is a great day for myself and my family." She tried to keep her voice level and calm.

His whisper became even quieter that little Anne Neville began to inch closer to them to hear their conversation. "Because I had seen you faint after the coronation ceremony. While your family may not have made such a fuss, I am certainly not stupid enough not to notice such a small scale panic in an Abbey full of people."

Mary inwardly scowled. _Why does he have to be so observant?_ "I am well, it was just a fainting spell after I had not drunk water the whole morning."

Richard smirked. Mary sensed that he was amused at the fact that he knew that she was not telling the truth. "Is that so?" He turned his attention to the feast that was laid before him and Mary felt her cheeks ignite as she felt Anne's envious glare at her. She felt Richard's hand slip into her's and she sprung up in surprise. George, the Neville siblings and her sisters looked at her, bewilderment carved into their expressions. Richard looked away, his grin buried into that of his wine goblet.

"Lady Mary, are you quite well?" Isabel asked, confusion written across her face.

Mary looked up, her eyes wide open in shock. "Yes," she squeaked hastily, then made to compose herself. "Yes, I am quite alright."

She sat back down, but felt something inside her clenched hand. A piece of parchment. She had to see what it said, curiosity was eating her up. She made her excuses. "Excuse me, I am in need of fresh air."

Mary left the hall and found herself wandering towards the palace gardens, where she knew no one would disturb her. She made her way into a maze of tall bushes and looked around before unclenching her hand to release the piece of parchment that had been so unceremoniously ruckled within her grasp. Carefully, Mary unfolded it so as to not rip the delicate skin and her eyes were met by a quill-sketched drawing of a wolf howling. Her eyes widened in fear and her hand flew up to her mouth to muffle the cry of disbelief and horror. Underneath the picture, she found a message: "Why does this dream frighten you so?"

She glanced around, suspicious of who could be watching her in her moment of weakness. How could Richard know? Mary was sure that there had been no one else that night who could have seen her. How could he have known? She paced restlessly, her thoughts no longer coherent. Her fingers dug into her skin in agitation, her eyebrows were screwed together in deep thought.

"Mary!"

It was the voice of the man she least wanted to see at this moment, why could it not have been Anthony? He must have been distracted by that girl Elizabeth.

"Mary!"

Mary rounded up on him. "You!" She marched towards Richard, incensed that he even dared to try and approach her. "What is the meaning of this?" She gestured wildly towards the offending piece of parchment. "How did you hear of this?"

"Anon, Mary. Let me explain." Richard tried to calm her down, but he should have known that a river, when pushed is difficult to tame.

"Mary?" She remained indignant. "I am not 'Mary' to you, I am Lady Mary. We hardly know each other and now you impose yourself on me by giving me this-" she gestured towards the parchment. "-this cryptic message." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do I know that you are not a spy of Warwick? That you are not trying to pick my family apart?"

He held his hand up, a calm gesture that took her by surprise. "A moment to let me explain myself." He took the piece of parchment from her. "Mary-"

"I said that I am Lady Mary to you." She spat.

"So be it, Lady Mary." He smirked, feeling triumph at having provoked her. "I had been alone that night and I couldn't sleep. I had been sitting at one of the benches, when you had run down the hallway past me. Curious at why you had been crying, I followed you but I made sure that you couldn't see me.

I saw you being escorted by your brother to your mother's room, when I had overheard some parts of your conversation with your mother." He stopped, his eyes widening. "I never knew you had the gift of foresight."

Her eyes widened too, afraid that someone who was not a relative (technically) had discovered her secret. What was she to do? "And? What is the significance of that?" Her voice sounded blank, devoid of emotion.

"I find it phenomenal that you can do such a thing, like you are a prophet from the bible." Richard said excitedly. "It is as if you had been charged with a mission of helping the Yorks maintain their true right to the throne of England."

But then, his face screwed up in confusion. "But then, why did you dream of wolves?"

Mary sighed in frustration and weariness. "I wouldn't know. I do not understand half the things that I see. And even if I did-"

She was interrupted by Anthony, who came running in. "Mary!"

He looked livid. Mary came running up to him, hitching her skirts up so that she was not hindered to do so. "Anthony, what is the matter?" Mary asked, concerned that he only came out to follow her now.

"Where have you been? I had been worried sick." Mary was troubled by this, why would he only come out now? "I had seen you leave the hall," Mary scoffed at that statement ("Had you really?"). "And it had been almost half an hour, what had taken you so long?"

Mary gestured towards Richard, who had been standing there unnoticed by Anthony. Anthony's eyebrows escalated, he clearly had not expected that. "My Lord," Anthony bowed in respect.

"It is fine, Sir Anthony. I had just asked Lady Mary for her company, as I had seen her walking around alone." Richard smirked slightly at the title. "So I apologise for keeping her detained for so long, Time had slipped past me so." Richard once again smiled his secret smiles.

Anthony blinked, taken aback. And so was Mary. It did not occur to her that he would make up an excuse for her, nor that Anthony might take the excuse well either. Anthony blinked once more before speaking. "There is no need to apologise, My Lord. I was merely worried for my sister. Excuse us." Anthony bowed and Mary followed. He offered his arm to Mary, which she took and they both turned their backs to Richard to begin walking back to the banquet hall when they were stopped.

"Wait a moment!" Richard called to them, which they couldn't help but oblige. They stopped their trek and Mary's hand on Anthony's arm tightened. "May I accompany Lady Mary back to the banquet hall?"

Anthony kept his face blank, but Mary knew that he was not happy with that arrangement but was not in the position to deny Richard. "Of course, My Lord. Mary," Anthony bowed to both of them and stalked off. Mary stared after Anthony, confused at his tempestuous mood that day. Her hands were still clenched into her skirts, and the parchment that contained her fear was still in her possession. A warm hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped in surprise. "Mary?" Richard whispered softly.

She did not bother to correct him. "What is it?" Her mind was still working to understand what was going on.

It was clear Richard did not pick up on her dazed demeanour. "Are you still angry that I had overheard your conversation?" His voice was hopeful, hopeful for some sort of forgiveness.

"No, I suppose not." Mary sighed. "It feels as if a great burden has been lifted from me, it is such a big secret for a child like myself to carry."

Richard took her hand in his and looked Mary in the eye. "I would like to help you carry that burden. You are too young to carry it alone, I swear to you that you have my support every step of the way because I believe in you, that you will be able to do what is right when the time comes. It may not mean much to you, but I am very loyal. Loyalté me lie." _Loyalty binds me_

Mary smiled softly, touched by the declaration. "Does that warrant you being my friend now?"

Richard reciprocated her smile, a genuine smile. "I suppose it does. Friend." He tried it out. "So if you are my friend now," Richard tried the title once more on his tongue. "Then, would you like to go riding tomorrow after breaking our fast?"

Mary smiled coyly. "Who am I to deny my friend anything?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Months had passed since Richard had bound himself to Mary, and their bond of friendship grew stronger. Rarely were they seen without the other at any time, be it a simple meal or some outdoor activity. No longer does Richard bear a serious expression, he now wears a smile easily on his face as if he had been wearing it the whole time. Richard's change in demeanour greatly pleased his brother, the King but caused the displeasure of his cousin, Warwick.

What Mary thinks caused the further displeasure of Warwick was the marriage of her youngest sister to the Duke of Buckingham, which Mary knew left Warwick without noble grooms for his daughters, for her many sisters took the lot. But with the birth of her niece, no male heir has yet been conceived and birthed. She knew that Warwick wasn't the only one rejoicing about that. After the wedding of Catherine to the Duke, Mary had stood next to Richard as he congratulated Lizzie for the birth of a York princess when she heard Duchess Cecily remark on how it was not a boy. Richard and Mary kept their attention firmly on their niece as Lizzie brushed aside the remark with a confident, "I shall have many more to come, Duchess Cecily."  
  


But that confidence was shattered when strong stomps of hooves could be heard echoing in the courtyard of the church and Warwick's bellows resounding like the bells of hell, ringing dangerously in Mary's ear. People raced to the entrance, with Mary and Richard caught in the back and with no way to see what it was that had occurred. With Mary's hand snagged comfortably on Richard's arm, he pulled her through the crowd to cut their way to the front. And what they had seen had surely made Edward (and to an extent, Warwick) elated.  
  


"Our one time king, Henry, and now our prisoner," Warwick thundered his horse's hooves like thunderclaps against the cobbled ground and a feral smile upon his face. "But I have ridden out and captured him."  
  


When Edward had seen the king of old, his boyish face broke it into an image of pure joy at the prospect of his cousin having captured a contender for the throne. "And you have brought him in." The triumphant cry of the King had rung through the courtyard.  
  


But as Mary continued to study the façade that the Earl displayed, she felt suspiciousness creeping into her heart. She should have known that Richard would have had the same feelings, or at least he would have deeper feelings of rage towards this man who had murdered his father.  
  


Richard pulled his arm aggressively from Mary's hold and stole a sword from an unsuspecting soldier to put an end to the former king. He made to run towards king Henry's horse, a growl upon his lips, ready to avenge his father. "Richard, no!" Mary shouted at him, pulling her skirts to run after him, but she was held back by soldiers. She struggled against them, but it was no use. He had already been trapped by his own brothers and soldiers, wrestling against their holds. He looked like a rabid animal, eyes bloodshot with lust for the blood of his father's murderer.  
  


"Then, let us take vengeance for our father he has murdered!" Richard snarled, still grappling for dominance against his captors.  
  


The King held Richard's face between his hands, his stare boring into Richard's. Mary began to calm down as she saw Richard's expression beginning to dissuade of anger. She heard the King say in a steely calm tone, "You will not." Edward emphasised each word. "He is an anointed king. And how should we be any better if we match him in his butchery?"  
  


Richard had not looked happy at that, but managed to stop struggling against the hold of his brother and the guards. Mary could see that some sort of clandestine understanding passed between the two of them, but she could not point out what. Edward walked forward, confident in his strides with the announcement he was to make. "He is a traitor and an enemy to my rule," Edward's voice vociferated throughout the courtyard, his forefinger pointing an accusatory finger towards the witless king. "But God has brought him to us to show that my reign is just and true."  
  


He turned away from the crowd that had gathered and ordered that the old king be brought to the Tower, leaving him with the parting message, "Go with God, cousin," and the former king was whisked away to be locked up for no other crime than having held the title of king and holding a claim to the throne of England. With that, Edward turned to his neglected cousin, the cousin that stood to gain the most from this capture: Warwick.  
  


With the old king having been lead away, Richard was released from the holds of his brother and the guards. He dropped the sword he stole and walked towards Mary with a haunted expression upon his face. She took his mindlessly proffered arm as they walked up the steps towards Lizzie. "I think Warwick's up to something." Mary said nervously.  
  


Richard did not respond, she knew he wouldn't against such a claim.

* * *

In the Great Hall, where the wedding feast was held, Mary sat with Richard as they both watched and quietly sniggered at the amusing display that was the sulking Duke and his new Duchess. Richard watched Mary when she wasn't looking at him, admiring the beautiful arrangement of her braided locks. Each strand was like finely spun gold, glinting daintily against the sunlight. When their thoughts were of the feast, they both picked at the food as they tried (and failed) to swallow it down because of their constant onslaught of giggles. At some point during the feast, Mary was summoned by both her sister and the King to his office.  
  


Her heart skipped a beat. Why was she being summoned at this time? Mary could not fathom why she was being summoned. As she stood up, Richard took her hand and squeezed it lightly for support. She squeezed back and sent a small smile to him. As she walked away towards the entrance, he smiled back at her.

* * *

It felt like eternity had passed before she had reached the office, she could not know what she was to expect. The door was already opened, welcoming her in despite the uneasiness she felt about entering. The King was standing by the fireplace with a goblet of wine at hand and her sister was watching the flames in obvious thought. They heard Mary's footsteps as she approached and stood up to receive her. She curtsied in their presence and stood before them. "Dearest Mary," Lizzie broke the silence first, her words honeyed blades to the deafening silence. "We have great news to tell you."  
  


Lizzie looked to Edward as he looked to the fire, a grave expression upon his face. "You are to be married, during the following summer."  
  


Mary was… she couldn't find the right words to describe the turbulent emotions within her. And she was very afraid to ask to whom it would be to, because Mary suspected that it wouldn't be to the bridegroom she had in mind. "To whom will I have to plight my troth?" Mary's whispers echoed throughout the room, a haunting quality to them.  
  


Lizzie smiled. "To the Earl of Warwick, of course."  
  


Mary felt her whole mental infrastructure collapse at the sudden shock of the news, but she managed not to give her feelings away, her mask did not crack. Her stomach churned at the thought of matrimony to such a man. She gulped. "Why am I to marry him?"  
  


Lizzie walked slow treads towards Mary. "It is because he was vying for the hands of the Royal Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester for his two daughters. We have to keep Warwick close and loyal to us. So we offered your hand in marriage to him instead, so that we have a direct connection to him and therefore have his loyalty."  
  


Mary shifted uncomfortably; he was more than twice her age! "Has he accepted?"  
  


Lizzie's bright smile wavered slightly and Mary saw the King shift at that. "No, he has not yet. But," Lizzie walked back to her chaise to retrieve her goblet of wine. "He will eventually. Only one of his daughters will be able to marry one of the royal dukes and gets you or he gets nothing at all. He will stand to lose much if he doesn't consider our proposition." Lizzie took a casual sip, but Mary can see that Lizzie was quivering beneath her façade.  
  


Mary took a deep breath. "But why is it that I am the one who will have to marry him?" She started to become defiant in the face of this situation. She did not want to have to be the pawn, not if it was only for the advancement of her sister. "Why can it not be Anne? She has not been married yet and she is much closer in age to him. Why does it have to be me?" She stamped her foot in frustration, she did not want him. Her voice had quickly escalated that it made the King turn his head to her with an alarmed expression.  
  


Lizzie's expression hardened. "He will not have anyone else because he is at leisure to pick anyone who amuses him. And you are the only one at court who even remotely comes to his standards. Granted, you will have to have a longer engagement than most because you are too young to marry him at present."  
  


"Only if I will have him, which I will not." Mary raged. "And you can tell him that."  
  


Mary stomped towards the entrance of the study, her gown materials flowing behind her as if it was a dream- no, a nightmare. She knew that she could not refuse him, if he does accept the suit. She could not openly defy her family. This event will just mean the start of a terrifying ordeal that will set off a series of events Mary knew that she could not have any control over. But, she yelled one last time as a sign that they have not defeated the fire that threatened to burn all that crossed her.  
  


"I will not have him!"

* * *

Mary walked through the corridors that night without a single destination in mind. The feast has still not died down yet, they were still merry but Mary could not say for how much longer they can last. Her shoes were in her hands as her feet wrapped in stockings padded along the marble floors and her silken dress dragged unwillingly across the surface. She glided atop the moonlit floors, feeling as if she was in a haze and her hair in disarray. Every image her eyes produced was mistily tinged, until she saw her. Mary's eyes widened a fraction, she did not expect her to be here. The ethereal maiden whom she saw all those months ago in the Abbey was at the end of the corridor, gesturing for her to come closer. Mary followed blindly, wandering towards her. As she did so, there was a buzzing upon her ear that she couldn't rid of. If she did she would have heard impending footsteps running towards her.  
  


"Mary, Mary!" Richard called after her, but she did not stop. She could not stop. It would be wrong if she stopped. As she continued to walk towards the maiden, the buzzing strove to continue in her ear. She continued walking aimlessly, as if under an enchantment. Richard continued to chase after her, but to no avail. The buzzing in her ears continued as she neared the maiden, whose delicate hand was outstretched for Mary to take… and continued… until she was shoved aside.  
  


A gasp of pain fell from her lips as she landed on her side upon the marble floor and her head hit against one of the columns of the hallway, locks of her hair tumbled upon her face, obscuring her view of what was happening. She felt panic overtake her, she could no longer see the maiden! She could vaguely see that a scuffle had ensued, but the buzzing in her ears endured, denying her the chance to be able to hear what was actually going on. She struggled to remove the hair from her face. In the darkness and the subtle glint of the moonlight, Mary could make out a the figure dark-haired boy (she thought it to be Richard) lifting his sword up in a stance that suggested he was going to stab what seemed to be a very ugly creature of unusually sable fur and glinting eyes. It struggled against the confines of Richard's legs and Richard plunged his sword into the creature, sheathing it in the heart of the creature to ensure an instantaneous death.  
  


Warm blood oozed from the wound of the creature, which caused Mary to hold her hand up against her temple. She felt the sticky liquid drip down her temple and stiffen her hair. Her fingers quivered at the feel of the blood running down her skin. She began to hear the grunts of exertion that Richard made and the whines of the creature slowly dying down with it. Richard released the carcass of the creature and approached her slowly. Mary's jaw slackened as he looked like an ethereal vision, with the moonlight lending him an angelic quality. He offered his hand to her and his lips moved urgently, but Mary couldn't hear a thing. She felt hypnotized by the movements of his lips. The buzzing persisted as Richard helped her up and they both struggled to walk towards the Great Hall, with Mary hanging precariously against Richard's thin frame. As they continued to stumble on their way to the Hall, Mary caught sight of the creature that Richard had killed: a black boar.  
  


Mary collapsed, causing Richard to stumble with her. He scrambled to bring them back up, but Mary resisted. She wanted- no, she needed to get away from here. Her visions were materialising before her very eyes and she felt her eyes widen involuntarily at the terrors she was facing.

A boar, whose fur was as black as the shadows it was running in… Cerulean eyes piercing into her soul…  
  


She felt as if her head was splitting in half with the shock threatening her sanity. She couldn't think, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe. She could only see the horrors that were trapped inside her mind be set free. She felt hands clutch at her silk covered arms, tugging at her arms that she should stand. But she felt as if she were paralysed, aware of her surroundings but unable to act. She was so fraught with fear that she eventually felt a small mercy being granted to her: to pass out.  
  


Her eyelids closed, eyes rolled back against her head and a gasp escaped her lips. The only thing she heard before she was lost to the darkness was a tenderly whispered "Mary".

* * *

Mary found her mind succumbing to feverish dreams of hauntings she knew then that she could never fully recover from. The wolf that pounced and the boar that threatened to ruin the whole of her future. She felt her body tossing itself, desperate to remove the horrific images that her mind managed to conjure of unending darkness, of white roses dripping with blood and of these nightmarish creatures that never seem to go away. Amidst it all, she found the maiden calmly watching the chaos unfold before her. Then… the scenes seemed to shift. A curtain of the thickest fogs fell before her eyes. Mary felt her arms flailing, but she couldn't see them. Enshrouded by the fog in her mind, Mary couldn't see anything except the thickening fog of confusion, giving her the feeling of being suffocated alive. She felt caresses of wet cloths upon her skin, but there was a constant feeling of a strong clutch on her left hand. It was a warm feeling that she held onto while she tried to battle the onslaught of horrors that she was facing.  
  


It was until she heard murmurs in the distance that she was beginning to lose the hope of escaping frightful scenarios that she had been subjected to experiencing. It was like the buzzing in her ears from before, except Mary felt that this was more comforting than the annoyance the first one gave her. Gradually it became clearer, sounding more like voices. The fog in her mind began to clear, giving her a faint image of where she was. She saw outlines of windows, curtains and a chair occupied by someone who was sprawled halfway across her bed.  
  


She blinked the bleariness away. Once, twice. Her view of the room was clearer and she saw by her bedside Richard sleeping, sprawled against her covers, a hand clutching her own. She groggily looked to her other side and found Anthony reading a letter. She swallowed and said, "What's happened?" Mary thought her voice was croaky, but Anthony's head immediately snapped up to Mary. He dropped his letter and knelt by her bedside, taking her other hand in his.  
  


He looked to her sincerely and whispered, "How do you feel first?" He examined Mary's expression.   
  


"I feel terrible, like I've been riding all week without any rest." She said truthfully. She looked around the room and her eyes fell upon the slumbering form of Richard. "What's happened? Why am I here, lying like an invalid?"  
  


Anthony stared at her, concern clear in his expression. "Mary, can't you remember what has happened to you?" He put his hand against her forehead to check for a temperature. "No one actually knows what happened to you last night, except for what Richard told us. He said that you were going to be," He swallowed nervously. "You were going to be mauled by a boar in the hallway by the courtyard. It had somehow passed the guards and made its way into the palace without our knowledge.  
  


He had said that he had taken down the boar himself, when you had been acting unlike yourself, though he suspects it to be because you had hit your head against one of the columns." Mary gulped at the thought of Richard taking down the boar, as Anthony began to frown. "Couldn't you remember anything that night?"  
  


It became Mary's turn to frown. "What do you mean that night? How long have I been asleep?"  
  


"You've been asleep for three days, Mary."  
  


This came as a shock to Mary, how could she have been passed out for that long? But she had more pressing issues. "But what has happened to the boar? And why is Richard passed out next to me?" Her fine eyebrows were knitted together in deep thought.  
  


Anthony took a deep breath. "The boar had been sent to the kitchens for its head to be separated from its body and mounted on a display board as a prize that Richard had won for himself. As well as that, the boar has been granted by the King himself that Richard may wear it as a personal symbol. As to why Richard is passed out next to you (albeit in a chair), you apparently clutched his hand in a death grip so tight that no one, not even the King's strongest knights, could separate your hand from his."  
  


Mary gasped, pitying Richard. "That means he has been here the whole time? With nothing to do."  
  


Anthony smirked. "I wouldn't say nothing. He was sleeping most of the time, but when he wasn't, little Anne Neville had always made her presence known. She tried asking for something that she could help with that could improve your condition (without her father's knowledge), saying that you had always been kind to her." Anthony gave her a look.  
  


"I was!" Mary protested. Anthony shushed her.   
  


"Be quiet!" He whispered fiercely. "You'll wake up Richard. Now," His voice was final. "Whenever she was present, Richard's attention seemed torn. She was always anxious to make some sort of conversation with him, which he tried to oblige her."  
  


"That's good," Mary managed to say. "He should never have to be alone because of me. Though, I should tell you." Mary gestured for Anthony to come closer. "Anne has a soft spot for Richard. This is the reason I think she comes and she was most probably ordered by her father as well to come so that she may take Richard as a groom."  
  


Anthony's eyes widened. "Well-"  
  


He was interrupted by Richard stirring next to Mary, his hair mussed from sleep and the shadows under his eyes prominent from lack of proper rest. His eyesight seemed bleary, but they became alert when Richard had seen that Mary was awake. "Mary!" He exclaimed, but his voice was rough after a few hours of disuse. "How glad I am that you are finally awake! How do you feel?" He gave her a bright smile, which Mary reciprocated, pouring all her happy feelings into it.  
  


"I am well, thanks to you. You had saved my life and in turn, I have heard that you have been greatly rewarded by the King." Mary said knowingly, causing Richard to blush. Anthony watched on, wanting to see how this scene will play out.  
  


"Any gentleman would have done that to protect a noblewoman, especially one that is to be wed to Lord Warwick." Richard said, a tone of sharpness was present in his voice.  
  


Mary's head snapped up in horror, her heart plummeted to the floor of the bedchamber, dismayed at the thought that Richard had found out. "How did you find out?" Mary whispered painfully, her expression was that of pure agony.   
  


"It was not difficult to find out," Richard tried to say casually  as he leaned back into his chair, "Court gossip travels so quickly, especially since the source was straight from the daughter of the Earl."  
  


Mary gasped. "Anne Neville? Are you bid to marry her too?"  
  


Richard glanced at Mary with a queer look upon his face. "Why would I marry her? Would you like me to?"  
  


Mary felt self-conscious at that, she felt as if that was a subtle accusation. She felt herself shrink back into the pillows laid at her back. "No, I wouldn't." A silence overtook the room as Richard stared at her, his stare boring a hole into her consciousness and as she avoided his scrutinising gaze. As she looked at anywhere else in the room except Richard, Mary found the seat of her brother empty. She deduced that he had most probably slipped out of the room to give them privacy. She took a deep breath. "Am I really to marry Warwick? I don't want to bind myself to him. I find him too oppressing."  
  


At that, Richard laughed. Mary looked at him in confusion. "Darling Mary, so is every other husband in England."  
  


"And you?" She said pointedly. " Would you be an oppressive figure in your marriage?" Mary asked him curiously.  
  


"I wouldn't know. Regain your health first and we shall talk about it then." Richard tapped their joined hands, a gesture for her to release his. She reluctantly let go, already missing the comforting presence of his clutch as he exited her chamber.

* * *

A week had passed since Mary had woken up and she knew that Richard had been out of sorts ever since. Something about Richard had been preying upon her mind, but she didn't know what. She soon brushed off the feeling, but it continued to gnaw at her in secret and in her dreams.  
  


As soon as she was able, Mary plucked up the courage to receive an audience with her sister. Her hands held onto each other for support as they both shook in nervousness. Mary was told to stand outside of the oak door until Her Majesty was ready to receive her. Her anxiety began to build up the longer she was left to wait. Her fingers began to play with the beads on her bracelet as she waited until at last, she had been admitted into her sister's sitting room. Her sister was rocking Elizabeth (as the baby was now called) to sleep. Lizzie looked up and smiled with a mother's joy clear on her face. "Ah, Mary!" Lizzie stopped rocking Elizabeth and stood up to greet Mary, kissing both her cheeks. "What brings you here? Not having any trouble with Richard, I hope?" Lizzie offered Mary a seat.  
  


Mary accepted and made herself comfortable. "No, Richard and I are quite alright. I came here to talk of my engagement to Warwick."  
  


"Ah yes, I was afraid that you would. But my answer will be no," Lizzie made it clear, a dangerous glint in her eyes made her look terribly feral. "We will not break off your engagement, just because you have eyes for someone else. Warwick has agreed to marry you, even going so far as to wait and have a three year courting period as you are too young. Meanwhile, it will give us time to find a better husband for you and keep him leashed to us."  
  


Mary felt angry tears threaten to escape from her eyes, but she kept her 'courtier' facade up. "So I am to be a pawn, a dishonest betrothed just so that you can keep your throne." Mary stood up. "I have foreseen the end of the road you take, it will not be a pleasant journey or end."  
  


Lizzie gasped at Mary's boldness. "You have not!"  
  


"I have. You cannot disprove it, I am the only one to have seen it." Mary bluffed. "Let us make this clear between both of us: I will do this, but not for you. I do it only for the advancement of our family. But hear this sister," Mary stepped closer to her sister. "If I am ever to be put at the end of the aisle with Warwick on my side as the groom, then I will tell all that you had seduced our King with witchcraft. No one will disagree with me, many will rise to fight against you. You walk on an unsteady ground, steadied only by the King. But the moment he is no longer in the picture, you will fall. Very quickly, might I add dear sister."  
  


Lizzie sighed angrily, but nonetheless yielded. "You have my word, Mary." She said reluctantly. "You have my word that you will never have to marry Warwick."  
  


Mary left her sister, satisfied with her vow. She went to go look for Richard, checking the courtyard first for any signs of him. It seemed luck was on her side when she found him there, practising his archery. Soft thuds met her ears before she even saw him coming into view, his stance was perfect and an expression of intense concentration was etched into his face. Mary plucked a growing white flower from one of the bushes and began to pluck its petals as she made her way behind him. "Richard?" She said. "How is your archery practise? Hitting it dead centre, I hope?" She sat on the bench next to where Richard's arrows were.  
  


Richard snorted. "If you bothered to look upon the archery board, then you would see that only two of my arrows arrived at the centre of the board." He released the arrow that he had been aiming, allowing it to hit the territory before the centre. He growled in frustration and dropped his bow, stomping towards Mary and sitting himself down next to her. "I do not think I will ever be well suited to the bow." Richard said, exasperated as he watched Mary pluck the rose petals nonchalantly. "I have been practising for the whole of my life and it never seems to get any easier. My archery master says that practise makes perfect, but how long will this practise period be? Until my death?" Richard threw his arms up in vexation, stood up and began pacing in front of Mary. "I wonder, I truly wonder who will be patient enough to help me progress in my archery?"  
  


It came as a great surprise to the both of them, Richard and Mary, that a small but enthusiastic voice would reply. "I would be happy to help you, Richard." Anne Neville came from behind the rose bushes, a basket of fully bloomed roses at hand. "I excel at archery, or so my archery master tells me."  
  


Richard's expression became one full of surprise. It did not seem to make sense to him. "But you're a girl!" He exclaimed, fueling Anne's and Mary's anger. "You girls aren't strong enough to carry heavy objects, let alone pull the string of the bow with such force and precision."  
  


"Are you sure, dear cousin?" Anne challenged. "Let me prove you wrong." Anne marched over to Richard's spot, dropping her basket of roses and picked up his bow. She put in an arrow, readied her stance and allowed the arrow to fly… to the centre of the board. Richard was quietly dumbfounded, Mary could tell though there was no change in his expression. Anne looked to him defiantly, her father's strength was obvious in her. Mary waited to see what Richard's reaction was to be with bated breath.  
  


"I concede my argument." Richard's voice slipped quietly into the charged air between them. "We shall start tomorrow, the hour before lunch then."  
  


With that, Richard bowed and offered his arm to Mary (who felt a jolt in her stomach when Richard said what he did) to walk back to the Great Hall for supper, leaving Anne alone to ponder at how she got herself in that situation and Mary to wonder what that will mean for Richard and her's friendship.

* * *

A/N: That was a long chapter for me to write! I hope you guys enjoyed it and please leave a comment about what you think of it. Cheers, Nemo xoxo


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

In the Year of Our Lord, 1469

Three years had passed since the conception of Mary's engagement to Warwick and the lessons that Richard had with Anne Neville. Since that time, the engagement has still not been broken off and Richard had still not improved in his archery skills, despite Anne's constant mantra of 'you will improve, Richard, you just need to practise', a phrase that irritated Richard to no end and sent Mary into a heap of giggles. Despite that, Mary was anxious that Elizabeth may not keep her word, the worry fresh in her mind at all times of the day. Being four and ten years of age, Mary was a bride that was ripe for the plucking and she knew that her power-hungry sister knew that. She just had to find a worthy enough husband that will finally advance the family beyond the borders of England.

That year, the royal family was touring the kingdom, with the King going ahead of the ladies to prepare the castles of their arrival. They had stopped by the roadside that the children may relieve themselves before continuing their journey. Mary had been helping the little princess Cecily with her skirts when Lizzie announced to them, "We shall never get there if we must stop every three minutes, girls!"

Elizabeth the Younger and Cecily giggled to themselves like the young girls they were. Cecily, ever so forgetful, asked Lizzie, "Where's Father?"

Lizzie let out an exasperated sigh, though smiled as she did it. "I told you, he's touring his kingdom." Lizzie led them to the carriages. "And we are riding to join him."

Their conversation was interrupted by sounds of gallops approaching. Mary felt herself become alert, the hairs on her arms standing up in fear of what was to come. Lizzie, on the other hand, was calm in the face of it all. She ushered her daughters towards the wet nurse and made her way to where the sounds of the hoof beats were coming from. Mary hastily followed her and found her father, her two brothers and a retinue of soldiers behind them.

"Father!" Lizzie looked genuinely surprised by their arrival, though moments before, she had looked to be quite calm. "What are you doing here?"

Father had an air of severity that surrounded him, the air seemed tense around him. "We are to ride with you."

"Why?" Came Mary's perplexed question.

John elaborated. "There is a rebellion," Mary gasped, "A Robin of Redesdale."

"That's a fanciful name for some petty rebel, Father." Lizzie chortled at the thought of the rebel's name. "Ed will stamp it all out in a heartbeat."

The Rivers men felt their temper rise when they realised that Lizzie failed to understand just how serious this rebellion was and Mary could see that their impatience was beginning to make itself known. "Someone is paying the men, Elizabeth." John growled, in an effort to reel in his temper at the ignorance of his sister. Mary felt the the colour from her face slowly drain, the horror only beginning to sink in as she realised the seriousness of the situation. "They have strong new boots and this is Warwick's country."

"Warwick?" Lizzie scoffed, "What threat is Warwick to us now, now that Mary is betrothed to him?"

"This is no joke, Elizabeth," Came the quiet but steely voice of Anthony. "It is certain. There are thousands of men-in-arms under Warwick's orders." They all held their breath as Lizzie began to finally understand the true threat of Warwick and his unrelentless power. "He is king-making again."

Lizzie's eyes snapped up and Mary felt the whole of her colour drain from her skin.

The rest of the journey was spent with Lizzie in deep thought and Mary, despite the circumstances, in unbridled glee. This moment will mean that Warwick would have betrayed the trust of the King and therefore would result in a broken engagement. Mary felt giddy at the thought of being free (free of _him_ , particularly), but she knew it would have to wait.

The slight figures of Lizzie's sons came into view. Mary saw from her peripheral view that a warm smile immediately bloomed upon her features when she had caught a glimpse of them. As they arrived at the entrance of the palace, Mary could hear their hasty steps towards the carriage. "Mother! Mother!"

Lizzie quickly exited the carriage, desperate to greet her sons. "My boys!" Hugs and kisses were exchanged after a long period of having not seen each other. Behind them, the King himself came to welcome Lizzie with a kiss and a look of warmth. Mary blushed still at the outward display of affection, still not used to their affectionate ways. But soon, his warm display melted into that of a cold, serious manner, walking away from the rest of the travelling party. Mary had to hike her skirts up so that she may run to catch up with the King's long strides and her sister.

Mary strained her ears as she tried to listen to the King's rants, but could only hear it clearly when he mentioned the battle of Mortimer's cross, as he was saying, "At the Battle of Mortimer's cross, there were three suns in the sky. Three suns!" He threw his arms up in the air in frustration, "Everybody said that it was a sign for me, Richard and George, the three sons of York. So how can one brother betray the others?"

When she reached the top of the staircase, Mary felt a squeeze on her hand and fingers being entwined into hers and looked up to find Richard smirking at her in amusement of his brother's rant before making his input into the conversation to make his presence known. "With Warwick, the man you thought of as your greatest friend."

The King turned to all of us, his eyes blazing brightly in anger like that of the sun he supposedly embodied. "And who else betrays us with them, hmm?" We waited for his answer with dreaded anticipation. "Our mother is not here, surely he's gone to attend their wedding. George is her darling, after all."

Mary turned to Richard, whispering, "Who did George marry?"

Richard did not reply, only giving her hand another squeeze as if to say that he would tell her later. Mary was not satisfied with that, but could not argue. She turned her attention back to the argument, with her sister querying, "Why would she back George instead of you?"

That question brought on a steely sort of anger in the King's eyes, one that seemed more dangerous than that of his irascible temper. "The old story," He said calmly, but his voice quickly escalated in his anger, "Whether I am my father's son, whether I am legitimate!" His hands landed on the table in front of him with a clamorous thud, causing Mary to gasp quietly and squeeze Richard's hand tighter. "George," The King continued, "is saying that I am a bastard and that would make him the true York heir."

"Damn him!" Her sister whispered fiercely.

"We will go and scotch this snakes' nest before it comes out of the ground." Came the King's authoritative command. Mary felt herself become stiff at that order. _Will it mean that they will have to go?_ She felt all eyes turn to her, with the King's gaze upon her becoming concerned. He turned to Richard.

"Richard, can you please escort Lady Mary from the room?" The King politely requested, his voice a surprising contrast to that of his earlier tone.

Richard bowed, Mary curtsied and he offered his arm to her. She took it and they left the room, with Mary quietly breathing heavily. They made their way slowly to the garden and there, she collapsed into a heap of skirts and shock on Richard's feet, causing him to jump up in surprise. "Ah!" He burst out, hopping up and down on one foot and collapsing in heap next to Mary.

His face contorted into an expression of torment, causing Mary to chuckle at his expression. "I shouldn't be laughing at the misfortune of others," Richard moaned. "You certainly would not be laughing once everyone realises that a certain girl has gained a stone in the time we had been separated." He wore a pained smirk.

Mary looked scandalised. "You wouldn't dare!"

"There are a great many things that I would dare to do, Mary!" Mary turned to him curiously, wondering at his words. He met her gaze boldly, staring into her eyes with amusement and resignment.

"And what would they be?" She asked curiously.

Richard heaved his body up to lean on his arm. "I would first announce to any who would hear it that you, my dear Mary, are," Richard stopped and leaned closer, prompting Mary to do so as well, "that you are a Dreamer." He whispered.

Mary felt herself gasp in shock and pinched Richard in the arm to stop him from laughing at her expression. "Richard, that's vile! What a terrible joke." Mary said, indignant and embarrassed at his remark. He continued to laugh at her expense but eventually sobered when he noticed that Mary did not share his amusement. "But you know Richard, that I truly love you." Mary did not seem to notice that Richard's cheeks flamed and his eyes shone, as she played absentmindedly with the grass she was sitting on, the blades digging itself harmlessly into her skin. "Truly, I love you as dearly as if you were one of my beloved brothers."

His expression immediately dropped, but she did not have to see that. She only looked up to find him observing the trees around them. "I feel flattered that I should be considered an honorary member of your family." He said sincerely, but strove to keep his voice from wavering.

Mary felt the edges of her mouth twitch to form a smile. "Of course, Richard," She said, "You always will be-"

She stopped abruptly when a soldier was heard marching towards them. Richard and Mary scrambled to stand up and compose themselves. The soldier bowed to both of them before stating his message. "The King has sent me to summon Your Grace," He gestured to Richard, "and Lady Mary to his study. He has said to make haste, that the matter to be discussed is of the utmost importance."

Mary felt a pang of nervousness as the soldier spoke his words, but neither she nor Richard unveil any emotion they felt that moment as they dismissed him. As the soldier marched away, Mary felt Richard's hand take a hold of hers as if to console himself, forcing the feeling of dread to come and haunt her as they hastened to the King's study.

Mary cursed her feelings, almost hated them in fact as they seemed to predict her emotions quite well. As she clutched her skirts of cotton, she quickened her pace to catch up with her sister and brothers. The mud began to increasingly dirty the hem of her gown as they approached the stables. Richard's countenance once more became that of a serious disposition, with a cold fierceness glistening in his eyes.

If Mary's feelings in the matter of her family going to war with Warwick were immensely worried, then Lizzie was absolutely distressed. The King tried to keep some sort of order between the two of them, explaining a plan. "You must go to Norwich, where you must act like a queen. The people must not worry at the prospect of another war coming crashing towards us again, because I fear that they may be swept away with this one."

Lizzie was quick to reassure as she bade her farewells. "Of course, but you must take care. All of you."

Mary rushed to Anthony and John, giving them both desperate hugs and a kiss farewell on their cheeks. She felt her cheeks dampening at the thought of her beloved kinsmen sacrificing their lives, just to keep her sister of the throne. But she held in her sobs, to keep up a front of encouragement and reassurance. Anthony saw the turmoil bubbling beneath the cool surface and pulled her back in for another embrace, Mary's arm wound itself instinctively round his neck and squeezed tight in desperation for him to stay. He said, "Mary, my dearest Mary, watch yourself while I'm away, for whilst I am gone, I do not think anyone will." Mary nodded, eager to make Anthony smile one last time.

John did the same, saying, "Be careful, be cautious dear sister."

Mary pulled back from their embrace to allow them to saddle their horses for their immediate departure, the cold air's presence embraced her instead, however unwelcome it was. She shivered as she felt the harsh winds cut through her thin gown and the sparse hairs on her arm stood up. But it seemed she would not have to stand the cold for long. A soft tap came on her shoulder and she turned to see who it was, only to be engulfed once more in loving arms. A fresh scent of grass, wood and parchment was what she was greeted with. Black hair obscured her vision, but she did not need to see. She already knew who it was.

"Richard," She breathed into his ear and his breath was subtly hitched at the way she had said it. "You are squeezing me too tight."

He pulled away, embarrassed as evidenced by the tell-tale rouging of his cheeks. But she soothed those feelings with a caress on his arm and a gentle kiss on his brow. "Farewell, Richard. Be careful." She bade him.

He gave her a small smile in return. "Of course, I am not like you in that respect. Headstrong and foolish."

She playfully slapped him and he smiled in good humour. The pleasant atmosphere that they were happily ensconced in was shattered when the King called to Richard, "Brother, make haste! We have to leave this instant if we are ever to have a fighting chance."

Mary offered Richard a last farewell hug and sent all the important men in her life on their way, their possible deaths.

Weeks flew by quickly, each day had been filled with endless dread of news. Mary found herself constantly in the chapel, praying desperately to God that he may keep her family, the King and Richard (especially Richard, her mind and heart urged as one) safe. Her hands continuously shook with a rosary in her hands, its beads cluttered against the wooden pre dieu she knelt on, her quiet sobs echoing throughout the deserted chapel. Whilst she struggled with worry on her own and in silence, Mary thought that her sister seemed to take her stress and worry in stride.

Lizzie was always cool and collected, seeming almost aloof when in the presence of peasants who have come to pay respects or have come to ask about inquiries. Mary did not know what to make of it. Her mother offered her no support, concentrating all of her time and effort upon Lizzie.

The days continued to stretch on in agonizingly painful silences of little news. Mary felt impatient and frustrated at the thought of not knowing what was going on. It was not until that day had come, Mary wished for the ignorance that she had so willingly cast aside.

A messenger had come, bearing a letter with Richard's seal. Mary felt almost exhilarated at the thought of finally receiving news, and from Richard no less. She should have noticed the appearance of the messenger: clothes soiled from an obvious struggle and dark circles under eyes, indicating the lack of sleep the man seemed to be struggling to combat. She should have noticed, for it would have soothed the news of which she has eagerly tore through the seal and felt dread rip itself through her heart like she had moments ago to the letter.

 _Dearest Mary,_

 _I cannot even begin to tell you any news, but I feel that I am obliged to deliver news such as this to you. My conscience demands that I tell you all: my brother, the King, has been captured by the traitor and Lord Warwick himself. It seems a very daunting scenario, but as far as tactics go, they cannot kill him as they will commit a very grave sin indeed by killing an anointed king, thus earn the hate of the people of England._

 _But, heed this warning of mine dearest Mary, Lord Warwick will target London and will lay siege there to capture your sister and the rest of your family. I urge you to take your family and ride to London as soon as you receive this letter. I am riding to London as you are reading this and I await you and your family's safe arrival at the Tower. It is of the utmost importance that we prepare for the coming siege, because if not, it will ensure the immediate fall of our House, should it fall into George's hands._

 _Good luck and all my love,_

 _Richard, Duke of Gloucester_

 _Burn this_

Mary felt herself collapse at the reading of the letter she received. It was not the news she had anticipated. The King captured? It seems like an utterly ridiculous scenario, and no doubt something that Lord Warwick is enjoying. And what of the fate of her father and brothers? What of them?

She felt so helpless in the wake of such chaos. Was she not meant to represent peace and calmness? Mary felt as if a storm was ready to unleash itself from her, its energy feeding off from all the worry and frustration she had boarded up within her. She stared at the paper as she minced the words that he has written to her, memorising every word of it. The parchment felt soft under her hands, Mary mused in her mind, but the news it bears hit her as if she had been stoned. She felt her head beginning to throb with pain and she winced, as she began to mourn the capture of a man who had been so kind to her and agonize over the unknown fate of her father and brothers, especially Anthony.

Speak of the Devil, heavy footsteps made its way down the corridor, as if it was making its way towards her chamber. "Who is there? I am not ready to receive anyone at this very moment." Mary had announced to the person approaching her.

"Not even your own brother?" Came a mellifluent voice. Mary's eyes widened in surprise and her head shot up. Anthony, in soiled travelling robes, gave her a small smile in greeting. She stood up, a wide grin upon her face and locked her arms around his neck.

"Anthony, you're here!" He twirled her around and she shrieked in delight. "Where is father? And John?" She catechized him. "Are they in the sitting room? I shall order a servant to serve them some wine and some bites along with it."

Mary began to rush to exit the chamber, happy to know that at least her father and brothers are safe. But her departure was obstructed by the arm of Anthony. She was confused. "Anthony, what are you doing? They are waiting for me downstairs. I would be rude to make them wait longer, when you have taken more of my time." Mary said in jest.

Anthony's expression became wrought with seriousness. "Mary, they are not downstairs." His voice reflected the utmost gravity of the situation.

"What do you mean? Then, where are they?" Mary felt denial beginning to colour into her tone. She knew she had to face something, but what was there to face?

"They are not here." Anthony stated dully, all life seemingly leaving him. There seemed to be another imperceptible emotion in his eyes, but Mary could not discern its identity.

But Mary was becoming impatient with Anthony's vague evasion of the topic. "Anthony, please. Where are Father and John?" Mary put forcefulness into her tone, fear seeping into her heart.

Anthony looked Mary straight into her eyes, apology clear in them. "Mary, they are dead."

Everything seemed to halt in that one moment; Mary felt as if her being, her very self was sucked into the Earth at the shock of the news. Her heart felt as if it had been stabbed and stoned and forced back to life. She lost balance and began to sway. Anthony, anticipating this reaction, caught Mary and steadied her. She caught his arms, her fingers digging itself into the dusty fabric to grip them. She felt her nails digging, drawing blood through the thick cloth. Blood that made her imagine their deaths... But Father and John being dead was absolutely preposterous! Mary began to laugh, looking to Anthony as if she was touched in the head. "This is a terrible joke, Anthony. Please, in the name of God, do not mention such things. Now, tell me the absolute truth." Mary took a deep breath to stop the impending giggles trying to force its way through. "Where are Father and John?"

Anthony took Mary's face into his hands, forcing her to see the sincerity in his eyes as he said the dreadful words. "Mary, they are dead."

"No," Mary whispered, in desperate denial. Tears were emanating, escaping against her will from her eyes. "No, they cannot be dead." She gripped his arms tighter as if to relieve herself of the pain that was plaguing her heart.

"Mary," Anthony whispered equally as quiet, agony at the sight of his sister crumbling at the news. "You must see sense, they are truly gone." She remained silent, like that of her tears absconding from her eyes. "They had been executed-" a painful gasp escaped from Mary's mouth, prompting Anthony to pull her to him in an embrace. Her cheek laid against his chest, her head tucked under Anthony's chin as he stroked her hair to soothe her. "Without a trial, without a way for them to defend themselves. They were beheaded on the order of Warwick and Warwick alone."

She felt the rivers that her family was named for flow forth from her eyes as sobs at last pulled themselves free from her slight body. In her grief, Mary felt her knees buckle and she lost balance, taking Anthony down with her. And there they stayed for a few moments that felt like an eternity, before Mary excused Anthony (unwillingly, she was not eager to share him with her sister at this crucial moment, but it had to be done) to break the news to Lizzie, and Mary knew that Lizzie was going to need every support she was going to get to confront this matter.

That night, Mary had fallen into a fitful sleep. Nightmares of her father and John, their heads severed from their body and in their blood, George, the Duke of Clarence drowned. Warwick was struck down by bloodied swords by faceless soldiers. His cries echoed throughout the rest of the night, ringing ominously in her ears. With a start, Mary awoke, finding her hands clutching her bed covers and her skin feverish, yet she felt a chill coming on. She crept from her covers and pulled on her cloak for warmth, then left her chamber to find solace in Anthony. A single candlelight yet again lit her way, but this time, its flame seemed to burn brighter, more vigorously. As she made her way down the hallway, she felt slightly nostalgic as she began to remember the vision she had months prior to the moment, a vision that has yet come to pass. She hastened to arrive at Anthony's chamber, so that she didn't have to relive such horrors again. When she at last arrived at his doorstep, she felt like that child long lost before. She gave a small knock at his door, three sharp taps upon the oaken door and Mary knew that he would arise.

But he did not. She waited a moment, to let him register her presence. She pressed her ear against the door, but no sound was made from the inside. Mary tapped again her sharp knocks, the sound echoing ominously throughout the corridor. Nothing, no sound. Instead, she pushed open the door and was met with another darkened chamber. Clothes discarded earlier in a scuffle lay on the floor and shoes that were turned up had rolled onto their sides, or so Mary has discerned. The bed sheets were tussled and in the middle of it all, her brother had lain, writhing in fear from some night terror that she could not see. As Mary inched closer to Anthony's bed, she could see the sheen of sweat glistening against her faint candlelight. His expression was that of utter agony and Mary was at a loss at what to do.

With leaden steps, Mary walked to Anthony's bedside and put her candle upon his nightstand. She wiped her hands against her cloak (having been clammy throughout her journey to here) and put the back of her hand lightly against his forehead. She pulled back her hand immediately; he had been too hot, as if he had been running. It was unnatural, Mary felt her eyes widen involuntarily. She searched for his wash basin and filled it with the water that had been set for Anthony's preparation the next day, poured the water in and dipped his face towel into it. Squeezing it of excess water, Mary brought it over to a thrashing Anthony, letting its cool droplets drip unto his face.

She sponged sweat and replaced it with cool, clean water, dabbing his forehead until the squirming stopped, his expression relaxed and he seemed to succumb to a dreamless sleep. She almost sighed aloud in relief at the terrifying thought of leaving Anthony to have battled this ordeal alone if she had not decided to come and seek refuge in his presence. With the covers straightened, Mary crept into the other bedside and tucked herself in after checking that Anthony was well and truly asleep.

Throwing the coverlet of velvet and furs over her, Mary shut her eyes and drifted off on the thought of having to confront and weather the grief all over again tomorrow.

"My Lady?"

A soft whispered voice slid through Mary's sleepy haze. She felt a clutch on her left hand and opened her eyes reluctantly to see who it had been. Anthony was fast asleep beside her, his face free of any wrinkles caused by his worries. The daylight was weakly entering the windows, signifying her early arising. Mary turned to the voice who woke her up and found her lady's maid Joan staring at her in urgency.

"My Lady, Her Grace has ordered me to wake you and your brother. We're to be leaving for the Tower in an hour. She has said that we must make haste for she has said London must be prepared and armed for a siege, milady." Joan had whispered to her in a volant manner.

"I will wake my brother," Mary ordered lethargically. "Joan, go ahead to my chambers and pack my belongings and prepare my dress for travel."

Joan's head bobbed in understanding and curtsied before leaving Anthony's chamber in a flurry of skirts. Once she had left, Mary turned to her brother and tapped his arm gently. "Anthony?" Mary murmured gently. He groaned, but did not stir in the slightest. Mary tapped his arm again. "Anthony, you have to wake up. We are leaving."

That was what woke him up. "Why are we leaving?" He asked groggily. "I just arrived."

Mary smirked at him. He always loves his sleep. "We need to go and man London for a fight against Warwick."

"Ah," came his understanding reply as he rolled over. "Then I only need to pack a shirt and a pair of breeches, for he will only see how well we prepare London and off he runs in terror."

Mary giggled quietly to herself. "Alright brother, I need to prepare myself."

During the journey, Mary felt utterly bored. So bored in fact, the pain of her grief was much forgotten in favour of finding a source of amusement. There was nothing to see except for endless images of green plants, green trees and a green front. She almost felt sick at the recurring theme behind it all. But she kept herself in check with conversations with her brother. After all, she was old enough to be able to ride horseback for long journeys.

The relief she felt at finally arriving was simply indescribable for Mary. Everything was as busy and chaotic as she remembered, with soldiers already manning the walls of London. It was already dark when they had arrived, Mary felt as if she had all the dirt on the road stuck upon her skin and clothes. It made her feel contemptible, but none of it seemed to matter when on the road ahead, Mary caught sight of Richard awaiting their arrival to greet them.

Excitement and reassurance at his safety burst within her. Everything seemed to get brighter by the minute. Her brother and father's death may overshadow her like a cloud, but Richard to her in that moment was like the sun. She grinned and jumped off her horse without consideration of her brother's opinion. Picking up her heavy skirts, she sprinted towards his figure. "Richard!" She cried, trying to get his attention. "Richard!"

At the sound of his name being called, Richard looked to her direction and found Mary running towards him. He beamed at the sight of her and came running towards her. She crashed into him, her arms curling around his neck in a tight embrace. His arms wrapped themselves around her as he twirled her around in happiness. Mary giggled aloud, content at having seen him safe after worrying all those hours filled with no word of their safety. Despite her gaiety, her kin did not share her overwhelming emotions, merely one of polite interest.

Lizzie and Anthony removed themselves from their respective transports and greeted Richard while exchanging pleasantries. Mary deduced it must have been fatigue from the journey coupled with their sorrow of their family's passing that must have decided their lukewarm feelings towards Richard. It also explained, in Mary's mind, why they decided to be excused to retire to their bedchambers early. Not that it mattered to Mary entirely, she had not seen or talked to Richard in ages. With her kin not wanting to spend time with him, Mary stole him away to the gardens to start to make up their lost time together. They have both spent too much time apart after having been together constantly these past five years, as if they were attached at the hips. The giddiness of having a secret meeting away from prying eyes was irrepressible to the two youths.

Suppressed giggles filled the quiet night air as they both ran through the gardens hand in hand, looking for some refuge from those who would judge. Mary felt as if she was on a cloud, gliding high on happiness alone. Is it possible to feel this way?, she wondered. Richard's hand felt warm yet softly rough against hers, a sign that he was growing into his role as a man with the duties that were demanded of him. Mary kept having to hoist her skirts up to make sure that she did not trip on them, for it would be a nuisance to her if she had.

But despite the profuse jouissance that infected the atmosphere between them, the smiles on their faces at seeing each other forever carved, never to fall, the news that Richard bore rocked Mary to the core.

Settling upon a grassy plain, hidden away from the scrutinising glare of the moonlight, Richard took Mary's hands and faced her with a serious countenance.

"Mary," Richard whispered, hateful to have to ruin their moment of joy but felt compelled to, "I would hate to ruin our happy reunion, but I must tell you something."

"Then tell me quickly, so that we may be able to move on." Mary said, impatient. What could be so important that it could not wait until the morrow to be told?

"Do not treat it so lightly, dearest Mary," Richard took a deep breath, as he began to play with her fingers and the cloth upon them in nervousness. Forcing himself to expel that information within him, he said, "Parliament has denied George becoming King, "

Mary began to laugh. "Richard, you know that he is the true king. Why do you worry, did you question his claim so?" Mary teased him, eager to get him out of his grave countenance. As she continued to study him, Mary began to realise that he looked much older like this, more unhappy. Why must he be so? He is too young to shoulder such duties. Mary thought to herself as Richard considered his words carefully.

The longer the silence seemed to stretch, the more it began to stroke an ember of worry within Mary. "What is it that worries you so, Richard? Are you afraid that Warwick will try to strike again? To try to take Edward's throne again?"

"No, I do not fear that-" Richard hastily tried to deny.

"Then what?" Came Mary's outburst. She was tired of such evasion. "You do not think that I worry? I worried so much for you all I begged to the Lord to keep you all safe at the expense of my life. It seemed then that my prayers were all for naught, for Father and John were killed." Mary broke into hushed hysterics, embarrassed at having to show weakness in front of him but relieved that she was able to admit to her fears. As she silently sobbed into her hands, Richard wrapped his arms around her as means to comfort her, tucking her head under his. He seemed slightly frightened with the idea that he may not have done this right, but it seems he did. Slowly, her sobs began to abate and she was left only sniffing. "I apologise Richard, I did not mean to do that in front of you." Mary apologised as she dabbed her eyes with her hankerchief.

"Mary, it is natural for one to feel that way at the death of a loved one, or in your case, two." He waved off any concern of hers. "But having George denied by the Parliament to be recognised as king, will mean that Edward will have to stay our sovereign and Warwick will have to release him."

Mary blinked in confusion, tears continuing to gather in her eyes, "What are you trying to say?" Mary asked desperately. In a world where politics ruled and words' meanings are not what they are, Mary should have been able to understand his meaning. But with her mind having been shattered with grief and her outburst of emotion, she could not process the meaning behind his words.

"Mary, it will mean that you will have to marry Warwick after all. Edward and your sister will now be more desperate to keep him close, you are to be the pawn to ensnare the black king." came Richard's reply.

No, that did not make sense. Mary sat up from Richard's embrace confused. "But surely, now that he has betrayed his king, Warwick would be executed for high treason."

"But, you know Edward." Richard stated exasperated. At her or at his brother, Mary could not tell. "He is loyal to a fault."

"And so are you, as far as I am aware." Came Mary's retort. "Loyaulte me lie, or was that motto just a lie to keep us thinking that you are a good York boy?"

Richard felt overwhelmed by the sudden change in attitude in Mary, but as he looked into her eyes, he could see that the sadness continued to linger. It would not, it seemed, be gone for a long time. So he conceded defeat and brought her back into an embrace, pressing a feather-light kiss upon her forehead as they both gazed up to the sky to see the stars sprawled before them in all their glory. No, Mary may not be happy with her impending marriage to Warwick but they will (it seems) see it through together.

A/N: I'm so sorry for updating so late. I've been very busy and also had a bit of a writer's block :) Happy Valentine's day, y'all. Cheers, Nemo


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The next few weeks were, for Mary at least, spent in the company of Richard (or without him, when he left her to campaign for the release of Edward), on their knees at the chapel. Their hands clasped together in desperation as they both prayed for the King's safe release, fingers entwined together like vines scouring walls for support. Their whispered orisons were like ghosts in the emptiness of the chapels, with dust raining upon them.

A lady of the court had begun to ask after Richard, and another after Anthony (though he did not seem to like the woman who wants to be courted by him). Mary had thought that she couldn't care less about the lady, only that the lady in question seemed to take too much of her time and used it in a useless and irritating manner. But she began to consider the possibility of losing Richard to another woman and her brother as well to another. They will no longer share their secrets, their deepest worries and fears with her and the prospect of that began to scare her and make her fear for her stance in the future.

As the weeks began to trickle by, Mary felt as if her praying was beginning to do no good. It was just long hours of desperate praying with no result to be able to show for it. Amidst it all, Anthony and Richard had both been her beacons of hope that the King may be freed from captivity. Night terrors of possible torture that the King could be facing tormented her at nights, forcing her into the comforting arms of Anthony, who gladly allowed her to sleep with him.

But at last, Mary had something to show for, for the prayers she had endlessly agonised over. She had been graced with a response at long last.

"Mary?"

A whisper woke her up, soft yet urgent in the silence of her bedchamber. Mary blinked her eyes open, to dispel the sleepiness they might have felt. A warm hand was tapping her upon her hip awake and she turned to find the source of her awakening. She was greeted by Anthony's excited expression, whose visage was being bathed in sparse moonlight. In her oscitant state, he looked youthful and quite handsome to behold. In her mind, the movements around were moving lethargically, as if in a dream-like state. But it seems her addled mind's thoughts would have to be cut off, in favour of more useful impressions.

"Mary?" Anthony tried again. "Mary, you must wake this instant."

"Why must I?" Mary argued weakly. "There is no use for me at this time of day."

Anthony shook his head in exasperation. "Mary, the King has been released from his capture. He has summoned us to celebrate his return with him." Anthony whispered quickly.

"Why in the middle of the night, at this ungodly hour? I am still asleep." Mary moaned, turning her back to him and throwing her covers back over her again.

Anthony threw her covers off her in a flourish, causing Mary to instinctively curl up into a fetal position. He took to her closet to get her thick dressing gown, dressing her in it and took Mary into his arms, saying, "Because he is the King, dearest sister. To be summoned and for the recipient to ignore, will mean treason. You will do well to remember that."

* * *

"King Edward! King Edward!"

Cheers came from Lizzie, Anthony, Richard and the Queen's Mother. Wine was poured for all of them in celebration, all of them wide awake except for Mary, whose head was leaning torpidly against Anthony's hip, while he steadied her with a secure arm wrapped around her shoulder. Her eyelids were drooping in exhaustion, but her hearing was fine. It did not affect her at least that she could not see the conversation unfolding before her, rather she could hear their voices unveil everything.

"They had lost their nerve," boasted the King. At least he was awake, Mary thought groggily, or she didn't know how else she would have stayed awake. Then again, she wasn't surprised that he would be proud of such things, even if it had not been his doing. "George had threatened to behead me, but of course, he would not dare. After all, why would he? Not even Warwick has the stomach for that!" They all laughed, except for Mary who felt too tired to move. "He thought," The King drunk a mouthful of wine before continuing. "That I was still a boy that he could control. He tried to make me give you," Mary assumed he was talking about Lizzie, "Up, but I told him that I would happily stay in his Castle forever, but never would I give up my wife nor who I am."

Richard agreed with Edward, piping up to say, "They are fools to think it." Mary smiled at his support for his brother and reached out to wrap her fingers with his. Her grip was weak, sleep-influenced, almost fluid in motion like that of the rivers her family was known for but Richard tightened their hold on each other and sat down next to her, so that Anthony may relieve himself of Mary's burdensome weight upon him. She laid her head upon Richard's shoulder, nuzzling against it that she may find comfort in this position. His woodsy scent engulfed Mary, causing her to feel as if she had been dosed with laudanum, lightheadedness was a welcome emotion to feel amidst all the drowsy feelings she bore.

"So, he had just released you?" Mary could hear an off-handed tone but could sense an underlying tone of disbelief and skepticism.

"Parliament wouldn't declare or make George the king, so if Edward wouldn't abdicate and they wouldn't kill him-" Anthony had been cut off by the King.

"Warwick let me out for exercise, as a display of goodwill, so that he may save his pride." The whole room laughed at that, even Mary giggled a little in her sleep as the king took a swig from his wine goblet.

Richard finished chewing his grape, swallowed with relish and said, "But Warwick had really just let Edward go."

Lizzie, basking in the happiness that her husband had returned to her unscathed, laughed to herself and voiced her thoughts loud, "And Warwick will be sorry." The atmosphere of the room suddenly became darker, the air heavy with tension and grief, and an overwhelming sense of quiet anger. The candles seemed to flicker dangerously low, causing Mary's eyes to blink open in shock. "You know about John and Father?" Lizzie enunciated carefully, with sadness and esteem. Everyone shifted uncomfortably at the mention of their passing, the King's eyes cast downwards, whether from respect or his own despair over their loss, Mary did not know. "So they will pay for it." Lizzie declared triumphantly.

But it seemed that her triumphant moment was short lived. "You won't like it," the King warned Lizzie, "But they won't." An unquiet moment passed, fraught with unease about the King's decision. "We must have peace, my love. I was a fool not to see that I had shut Warwick out, remained ignorant when he craved for my attention. But now he knows he has lost and if knows what is good for him and his two daughters, he will beg my forgiveness. As will George." The King reasoned.

Lizzie tried to fight this decision, eager to see George and Warwick punished for their crimes against her family. "You must not give it then!" She cried, obviously distressed by Edward's decision to welcome the prodigal sons back.

Edward remained calm, wanting to keep peace between him and his wife with people still in the room with them. "But I will." His hands began to gesture wildly as he justified his own decision. "You must see sense Elizabeth, they are my brother and cousin. This country will not be able to withstand another war, especially one within this family."

The room became silent, its walls echoing with the soft crackles of the fire. Edward then spoke of his intention, "I will make Warwick's nephew the Duke of Bedford." His voice was but a whisper, echoing lightly through the room. But it was met by indignant shouts of outrage. Mary's eyes flew open in shock, shock that the King would reward Warwick's nephew despite Warwick's own disregard of fealty towards the king

"My first husband's title?" Mary's mother was outraged by that decision. Mary could see that it was not easy for her to swallow such a bitter medicine, her gnarled hands were clenched so tightly as she tried to reel in her fiery temper, the knuckles of them sticking out in such sharp angles. Richard squeezed Mary's hand as she begun to realise that she was leaning forward to be able to understand what was going on more. He patted her back as she leaned back into his arms, a sign that she must keep out of it lest she be burnt by the crossfire. She kept his hand clasped on hers, settling it upon her lap as his thumb drew soothing circles upon her hand and the arm on which he cradled her with, his hand caressed her shoulder to keep her calm in the face of this outburst.

"He is Warwick's heir and I must give something to take that he may stay loyal to us." Edward defended himself.

"He is a traitor." Mary's mother growled.

"I don't care what his nephew gets, as long as Warwick is executed for his crimes against the Royal family." Lizzie screeched. Mary could see that her temper was becoming her, the bright red flush of her cheeks a tell tale sign.

"I can't, my love," Edward seemed to look apologetic, but Mary doubted the sincerity of his apology, "And I won't. And what's more, I will offer our eldest daughter Elizabeth to young Bedford in marriage to make the alliance firm and also," Edward gestures to Mary, to Richard and Mary's horror. "We will make Warwick and Mary's betrothal official and we will let them wed by the next spring to solidify their loyalty."

"Over my dead body!" Lizzie whispered in a steely voice, but with a hint of fear that Mary shared.

Richard stood abruptly, causing Mary to lose her grip on his hand. "You cannot do this, Edward. You are not Mary's father." Richard argued. Mary gripped on his tunic, a tug to tell him to sit down and avoid involvement on her behalf. But Richard would not be dissuaded. "Edward," Richard's piercing gaze fell upon his brother's uneasy one, "You must let Elizabeth and Mary decide on that matter."

Edward let out a shallow breath. "So be it, but the matter of Elizabeth's marriage will be final. For then, even Warwick will have a chance of his blood being on the throne one day and he will not come against me."

Mary spoke up, her voice unwaveringly soft, "He will not openly come against you, Edward. But he will go against you because of your choice of bride. So, do not be surprised if Warwick refuses the proposal you offer but accepts the position you offer to his nephew."

Lizzie let out a sardonic laugh. "I swear to you," she said with such conviction to Edward, her index finger pointing at him warningly, "That our daughter will never marry Warwick's nephew. Or have you forgotten she is also mine?" Her smile was painfully pleasant, her teeth bared in a smile with a shimmer of threat behind its intention.

"Then forgive me," Edward's voice began to escalate, all the rest of the people in the room began to shrink into their surroundings except for Edward and Lizzie. "For being worried out of my wits about you and trying to keep you safe, but they would have murdered you!" Edward emphasised his anger at the thought of Lizzie's death by banging his fists on the oaken table, sending the goblets clattering and wine splattering on the table. "So," His voice became but a whisper again, "While I am King of England, I shall give my daughter in marriage to whomever I choose and no one, including you shall stop me!"

A deathly silence fell upon the room and Mary found herself quivering in fear at the display of anger shown by the King. She had never seen him thus, only as an amiable man. Mary found herself clutching unto Richard's hand once more and another hand upon his arm. No one seemed to know what to say to break the silence. No one but the King it seemed. "I apologise profusely for raising my voice in front of a lady." Edward toyed with his goblet and looked up to glance at Mary. "Richard, could you escort Lady Mary from the room to her bedchamber?"

Mary seemed to be stuck to her chair, the stare of the king seemed to go right through her. In his eyes, there was an emotion that she could not discern, one that she was not familiar with. A arcane look of wanting it appeared, but for what? Mary could not evaluate what it was, as she was ushered by Richard out of her seat and, with her hand hanging lightly against the crook of his arm, they bowed (or curtsied) and Richard began to lead Mary towards the door. "Stop a moment."

Both Richard and Mary were stopped abruptly, startled at being sent away at one moment then summoned the next. They both turned around to face the King, a small smile brightening his features. The look of wanting seemed to be stronger now, wilder as if he was so desperate to have it, but what could it be that he wanted at this moment? The simper upon his features did not answer her question. "Mary, come closer." He bid her with a wave of a hand to do so.

She approached him with trepidation, her fingers sliding away from the warm crook of Richard's arm, they now tremble as they brushed the smooth surface of his tunic and the tingle of his own fingers from hers. Underneath her gown her heart beat faster, her breath quickened and her legs quivered slightly in fear. Fear of the unknown. She could not disobey him, to do so would mean treason. Why would she be addressed so familiarly when all these years he had not taken the slightest notice of her? She kept her head held high and her bearing blank.

Her mother had an alarmed disposition, one that she did not try to hide. Lizzie looked confused, while her brother had a snarl upon his features. He seemed to want to submit to a primal urge to attack the King for asking such an outlandish request of his sister (his favourite, no less, Mary thought smugly). Everyone in the room had such different reactions that Mary did not know what emotion to feel. She stopped, meeting his gaze boldly but with a heavily lidded stare. Edward towered over her, his goblet of wine in one hand and the other upon his hip. Mary felt the urge to shrink with the mere size of him intimidating every fibre of her being, but she stayed her ground. "Mary, turn around." The king ordered as he gestured a circle with his wine goblet. She was confused by the request, but as she looked to her mother and sister for advice, they openly displayed a wildered expression. She looked to her brother for support, the snarl on his face lessened as he began to realise that such a display of hostility could lose his favour with the King and jeopardise his position in court. He held himself back and nodded to Mary, a sign that she must oblige what Her Lord asks of her. So, she spun around, but very slowly (as if it had been for her own leisure that she did this, not an order) and as she did so, Mary saw Richard had an impassive countenance, but she saw that his fists were clenched tightly, as if he was trying to redirect his thoughts from an unseen pain.

Her heart continued to beat in an alacritous beat, almost irregular but she steadied her turn. As Mary turned to face the King, Edward swooped to take her hand without warning, taking her aback. _Such boldness,_ Mary thought, _such a sudden change of heart. One moment indifferent to my existence, if only for alliances, then made aware of it. Strange indeed._

"You will make a beauteous bride, Mary." He bent down to press a tender kiss upon her hand, leaving Mary to feel a multitude of shivers running through her skin. "Any man will be proud to have you as the mistress," Here, he seemed to wink at either her brother or Richard, "of their household. A very engaging and, not to mention, comely hostess." He averted his eyes to the hand that he was holding, the hand that Mary desperately wanted to pull from him but could not.

As he inspected it, Mary felt shivers up her spine but could not identify the reason why. She wished for him to get away from her, but as he stroked her hand, almost gently, Mary felt as if he was stoking the incandescent embers that defined her soul. But what does it mean?

A stroke… a flash- a sketch of white, soft flourishes of grey and bold accents of black. Another stroke...then came a clearer image, one that began to fill her heart with dread. Another… the face of the wolf that made her nightmares came growling at her, its bold outlines imprinted in her memory.

The snarl reached her ears, blinked away the snapshots that appeared before her eyes and drew her hand back from the King. He looked bewildered at having been denied something. Mary stepped back, her eyes wide at having done the very thing that her brother had warned her about. Soft pads of her clothed feet filled the dumbfounded atmosphere as she backed away towards Richard and her escape. "I am so sorry, My Lord," She curtsied hastily, "and a good night to you all."

And she made her speedy exit, with Richard in tow.

* * *

Her diaphanous nightgown with her cloak on top of it swished around her ankles as she half-ran, half walked to get as far away as possible from that suffocating room. Only the moonlight guided her tonight and Richard's impending footfalls soothed her fear of the darkness of the halls. "Mary!" His footsteps got closer, his breath was getting heavier. "Mary!"

Richard spun her around by her shoulders to face him, breathless, breathing uneven and ragged with tears. Pulling her in with her head cushioned upon his shoulder as she clung to him for comfort, he stroked her hair in a soothing manner. Her cries were muffled by his tunic as her fingers dug into his arms. The moonlight began to dwindle as rain clouds began to gather and spew light drops.

Swaying gently back and forth, he whispered to her as his eyes darted stealthily across the corridor to watch for any eavesdroppers. "What had happened? Did my brother offend you in any way?"

Mary pulled her head up to look to Richard's face, half of it enshrouded in darkness, her tears beginning to cease. "He did not." She whispered to assure his growing concern for her. She laid her head back down on his shoulder as she continued her sentence, stumbling upon her words. "But I had seen something."

Richard seemed to flinch, stiffening slightly at the words she had confessed to him. A moment of silence between them passed as he considered his words carefully, not wanting her to have scruples about responding in truth to him. "Mary," He whispered slowly, enunciating her name carefully that he might relish the name, the feeling of saying it upon his tongue. "You have not had any seeings lately."

She let out a quiet breath of nervousness as she began her explanation. "Do you remember the note with your sketched wolf, the one that had been howling to the moon?" She heard him give an hum of confirmation. "I've had a vision about _that,_ " she choked out the word, "It had not come to pass yet, but it will be soon. I do not know what to expect, these visions are as much of an enigma as life itself. I simply do not have the time to ponder about its meaning and how it will concern me." She heard Richard give out a small chuckle, one that seemed to echo ominously throughout the empty hallway. The rain seemed to diminish, leaving only small showers to spray upon the grass to adorn them with early dew.

"Dearest Mary, trying to still make me laugh as we talk about a serious issue." His chuckle vibrated through the whole of his body, allowing Mary to feel its aftershock at his shoulder. "Are you well enough now to proceed to you bedchamber? It is getting too late for a young woman like yourself to be up."

She gave a nod of affirmation and they separated from their intimate twining of comfort, only to be reunited when Richard offered his arm to Mary. Walking down the hallway, it seemed that the moonlight was kinder, offering more moonlight than it had ever dared to give. As they made their way to her bedchamber, Richard brought up the subject of his brother once again. "Mary, you may not be aware of the King's intentions."

Mary felt troubled by Richard's sudden declaration. "What intentions does he have for me? Other than the fact that I am to be a political pawn."

"Mary, he has deeper intentions for you than you can ever imagine. You have hardly ever interacted with him, but now that you have grown up," Richard swallowed, "He seems to see you now in an entirely different light."

Mary scoffed. "What is it about me that has changed so? I have been the same throughout the whole of my staying in the palace, how have I changed so much? Tell me, Richard. Please, enlighten me in that respect."

It had been a very good thing indeed that the corridor was dark because Richard looked cornered by that question, like a child who has been caught doing something very naughty. He gulped. Once. Twice. "Umm," He began.

"What? Are you now tongue-tied by the prospect of telling me something so very simple?" Mary said in jest.

"No, I am not. It is just that-" He swallowed again. Breathing in and out, he gathered the courage to tell her his true opinion of the matter. "Mary, throughout the time that we have known each other, you have grown from a girl of a fiery character to one that has more control and more fortitude than I have ever seen in anyone. Do not let anyone doubt you or your character, because then they will be fiercely mistaken to do so."

Mary looked to him, flattered yet overwhelmingly curious. "And why would that be?"

"Because then they would have to answer either to me, your brother and now," He paused, giving his next words a serious thought, "The King it seems." Richard chuckled hollowly at that. He knew now that Mary hated evasion, she needed this to be told to her. "Mary, I have reason to believe that the King desires you."

That stopped Mary walking. A shocked look fell upon her face. "Richard, please be serious. You may be a royal duke, but such talk is treason."

"Of course I know that," Richard said, "But I am giving you a warning because you and I know exactly what my brother is like; if he wants something, then he has to have it." He sighed, almost exasperated. "Why would I lie to you? What would I stand to gain if I did?" He quietened down as he began to see the stunned expression illuminating in her expression. "Mary, I worry for you. Do you not see?"

She did not respond to him, only sinking slowly onto the cold stone floor. Mary's thoughts were running uncontrollably and unfettered with true emotions, only ones that fleeted without true commitment in colouring the thoughts. But one struck her as one of the most dangerous, one that may affect her for the rest of her days, should she be unlucky enough to court it. "Richard, if you have noticed the King's desire for me, then it will mean that my sister is suspecting it, or may have even known about it." Her warm hands pressed against her throbbing temples, rubbing in small circles to ease the pain that plagued her. "I fear that she will seek a terrible retribution in payment for enticing her husband." She began to laugh, an acrimonious tone seeping in to it. "What is there about me that is special?-Apart from the royal ties I hold and thus a sizeable dowry. I have no beauty to recommend me, my sisters are all more beautiful than me."

Richard knelt next to her, understanding her plight. "But Mary, do you not see? There is something so alluringly wondrous about you, something that forces men to look at you and melt with a single glance from you, into a pool of furs and velvet. We are drawn to you, so endlessly do we suffer to try to resist you."

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, puzzled at what Richard had described to her (despite her feeling flattered by his poetic declaration). "But why must you suffer so?" She asked quietly as she looked him in the eye, to make him see the sincerity behind her question. He felt struck by her, the question felt intimate but he knew she was not referring to him.

"I do not know," He admitted, "It must be a consequence of your feminine mystique. Now, come," He said in haste and embarrassment. "It is late and you must get to bed."

* * *

The next morning found Mary fully refreshed and ready to start a new day. Awakening to the early strips of sunlight, she rung for Joan to help her to get dressed and languished in bed as she awaited Joan's arrival.

"Good morning, milady." Joan bobbed into a curtsy. "Have you chosen what you want to wear, milady?- Or am I to choose for you?"

Mary was slow to respond, mind still under the influence of Morpheus. "I have not selected my dress for the day as I am afraid I am still very much asleep, despite my body telling me so. Will you choose my day wear? I am sure that your choice will be more than satisfactory."

"Of course, madam."

Mary watched behind heavily-lidded eyes the movements of Joan. They seemed erratic and almost nervous in a sense as Joan browsed through the various articles of clothing that Mary owned, but Mary rationalised that it was most probably her just imagining things. She forced herself to stand up to wash her face and hands, waddling over to the washing stand due to the long period of disuse of them. "Joan, can you please pour the water into the washing basin for me, please? And also prepare my face towel as well." Mary asked politely.

The sound of sloshing water filled the room as water filled the ceramic basin, creating rippled beams in the ceiling as the light hit the water. As Mary dipped her hands into the cool water, she felt a shock as she began to recall the events from yestereve. Fresh worry entered her mind again and tried to relieve it with her wash. But it seemed it was no use, it will stay as a haunting presence at the back of her mind and it may not be leaving anytime soon. Drying her face, she summoned Joan from the wardrobe, to help her to be dressed.

One by one, she donned each piece of her wardrobe, as if they were armour that she will need to protect her from whatever fate she was to face today. As her corset was being tightened and laced, a knock came upon the door.

Tap, tap.

"Who is it?" Mary called to the door, then gave a small gasp at the corset still being tightened.

"It's Anthony, sister." Came the muffled reply.

"Come in, then."

He entered, fully dressed and decent looking for the day. "Good morning, dear sister. How are you feeling this morning?" He greeted, as he took a seat by her writing desk. The wooden chair creaked under his weight, causing him to smirk at its response.

Mary rolled her eyes at that then gave another groan of pain as Joan's work began to get a bit clumsier in tightening her laces. "In terrible pain, brother. But I shall live another day, as we women usually do." The bones of her corset began to dig into her spine, making her feel as if it was a prison that she was shut into, making what she knew would be permanent bruises imprinted into her skin.

"Of course you shall." Anthony said laughingly as he twisted his family ring. "I shall make sure of it."

"What have you come here about?" A sigh of relief escaped Mary as the adjusting of the corset had finished. She made her way over to her bed, where the last piece of the whole wardrobe had lain.

Anthony, in that moment, underwent a sudden personality change; one moment he had been of a good humour then the next, he soured. It threw Mary into a whirlwind at the drastic change in humour. With her dress in place, Joan guided her to her looking glass and sat her down to begin working on her hair for the day. Throughout that time, Anthony had not said a word nor made a sound. "Well, if you shall not tell me then let me tell you some news." Mary compensated for the heavy silence in the room. Mary looked at his reflection in the mirror, a dark cloud looming over his head. "Richard is to give us a reading at tonight's banquet. He is to read an excerpt from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, the Knight's tale if I am not mistaken." She announced to Anthony's sulking reflection. Squeezing her eyes tight, Mary winced as Joan's handiwork became maladroit and painful. She whispered to her, "Joan, could you please be more careful?"

Mary could see a reflection of Joan nodding, expressionless. She had thought this very odd, but she She continued, to see if she could provoke a reaction in him. "I hear that it is very good, but not that I know, he wouldn't give me a private performance. He is going to dedicate it to me, you see dearest brother."

Still, there was no word that had been elicited from Anthony. Mary held up her hand to stop Joan's ministrations and turned to Anthony in frustration, her pale cheeks becoming a rich shade of vermillion in her anger. "Anthony, will you not tell me the reason for your sulky behaviour?" She huffed, earning a sharp movement from him.

"Are you in love with the king?" Anthony asked sharply, his eyebrows scrunched together in thought and worry.

Mary felt herself stiffen at that. Surely, he did not expect her to have feelings for a married man? "Why do you say that brother?" Mary said, trying to act cool and collected by such an unexpected question. "What evidence do you have that I am what you say?"

She could see through the looking glass that Anthony, though his bearing was blank, his fists were clenched so tightly that Mary could see they were becoming mottled with blue and purple in his subdued rage. "I do not have any evidence to say so, but it seems the King is enamoured with you sister." False joviality rung in his words, Mary became wary. She had never seen him in such an intense shape.

"What has given you that impression?" Mary wondered and grimaced as Joan pulled another strand of hair out of place.

"He has shown you great favour yesterday, upon his return. He needed not to say a word, his stance and countenance are like open books, easy to read." Anthony drew a shuddery breath. "Sister, he desires you and Lizzie will be ireful. And Mary, you know how she is in her anger."

Mary rolled her eyes at Anthony as Joan curtsied shakily and exited the room when she had finished Mary's preparation. "Of course I know Anthony, we've all been an unfortunate recipient of that perfervid temper." She pinched her cheeks once more to bring colour to them, scarlet shadows staining her pale complexion. Turning to Anthony, she rewarded him with a smirk. "Dearest Anthony, I know how you worry for me, but you must understand: I am a woman now. I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles."

He sighed, eager to humour her. "Yes, capable enough to be able to be married off." He winced, as if in pain at the thought of her future marriage. "And I will no longer be the most important man in your life. If I can help it, you would never be married."

Mary smiled, a questionable glint in her eyes. "Is that so?" She stood up and walked over to him. "So what would you say if I said that I would like to be a nun? My life in service to God and thus never be married to a mortal man?"

Anthony's eyes widened in utter shock. "You couldn't, sister. I cannot imagine you doing labour and sitting in long silences, in prayer. And I did not think you had a talent for singing!"

Mary laughed at his genuine distress at the situation of her becoming a nun. "Fear not, brother. I shall not become a nun. I do not think I will be able to wake up at such an ungodly hour, it is much too early for me."

They both giggled over that, the good humour of the morning restored. At that moment, the sun seemed to shine its scintillating rays just a bit brighter and the sky was a more vivid shade of blue, but the clouds were lined with darkening grey outlines at the bottom, dimming the beautiful irradiant glow of the milky clouds.

Mary began to giggle a bit more, looking at Anthony at the corner of her eye with a mischievous smirk. "So you do not have any objections to me marrying Richard instead, since I have no intention of becoming a nun?" She gave a small hum, picking up her skirts delicately with one hand. She arched a delicate eyebrow in a challenging manner. "Let me go propose now, brother."

She sprinted to the oaken door in high spirits, almost spiriting away with skirts floating behind her only to be caught on the last minute and wrapped in Anthony's arms, a flurry of skirts and giggles. The atmosphere would not stay light for long though, good things had to come to an end. A quietness overcame them as thoughts became pensive. "Anthony?" Mary whispered to him.

He hummed in response, deep in thoughts Mary knew she was not likely to fish him out of. "When you are alone, do you miss Lady Scales?" She asked in a tentative manner, unwilling to break this delicate moment.

"I think," He began. "I think I miss the idea of her, dear sister. Which is why I have you." He poked her in good nature. "You are supposed to be the one who is supposed to alleviate me of such lonesome moments, but now you wish to bring them back?" He said roguishly, making her giggle at his antics.

"But Anthony," Mary smothered her giggles. "Do you mind having another man in my life who mattered to me as much as you do? Because, I do not think I could bear it if you did not approve of a possible suitor." Mary said to him truthfully, causing him to adopt a serious mien.

"Mary, I would not mind," He took her hands in his and planted a light kiss on her knuckles in affection. "On the condition that your affection for them does not encompass yours for me."

She laughed at him openly until a knock came upon her chamber door. Stifling their laughter, Mary composed herself before opening the door to greet the person knocking upon the door. A bright smile and rosy cheeks decorated her visage and she opened the door thus… to find Richard standing on the other side. Their eyes met each other; Mary's smile widened and Richard felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment at being stared at by both Mary and Anthony. Anthony quickly lost his genial disposition, souring by the second and stormed the room (albeit in a very gentlemanly and polite manner). Both Mary and Richard stared after him, turning to each other with a smile.

"Good morrow, Mary. Will you accompany me to break our fast?" Richard asked politely, a gay smile upon his face and a proffered arm to Mary.

"I think I shall." She responded, taking his arm by the crook of his elbow. In the cold morning air, Mary buried her hand into Richard's warm arm, relishing in the pleasure of some warmth. As they progressed slowly through the corridors (now with broad daylight streaming through the tinted windows), Mary smiled to herself and turned to face Richard. "It seems, Richard, that you have earnt my brother's eternal hate." She sighed playfully in exasperation. "Beware, for I enjoy your company too much."

His pleasant expression quickly turned into one of pure confusion. "Now, how have I managed to do that?"

She faced the way that they were walking and occasionally nodded her head in greeting to passing courtiers. "He is of the impression that you are going to whisk me away at some point of our lives and ensnare my affections, which in his eyes will mean that I would hypothetically love you more than I love him." She almost rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it all, but felt pity that her brother had no spouse to share a love with.

"That is most unfortunate indeed." Richard swallowed, working to keep his voice steady. As they neared the breakfast hall, the number of people seemed to become denser. Wheedling their way through the crowd, they managed to find themselves at the forefront of the crowd, only to be cornered by Edward.

"Good morning, brother. A lovely day seems to be unravelling for us today, does it not?" The King greeted Richard.

Richard bowed and Mary curtsied in respect. "Good morning as well to you, brother." Richard responded, his smile becoming more stretched and his voice becoming high strung. "The day seems to be proving more beautiful as the hour progresses." He feigned looking round, prompting Mary to do so as well. "And where is Elizabeth?"

Edward's expression seemed to fall, his proud stance shifting into uncertainty. "Ah, she is on her way. There had been a malfunction in her wardrobe, or so she tells me." He turned his eyes to Mary, his eyes seemingly devouring her form on the spot. "And you, Mary? How is your morning so far?"

She plastered on her courtier's smile with grace and ease. "Very pleasant, my Lord. My brother had entertained me before Richard had swooped in and stolen my attentions." They all laughed.

"Yes, it seems my brother is skilled in the arts of charming women." Edward jested, causing Richard to shift in unease. "He does not seem to say much, but they all seem to gravitate towards him like moths to a flame, yet it is meant to be the other way around." Edward laughed heartily, while Mary had giggled at Richard's expense. "Every part of him seems to exude charm, just as a York boy should."

"But, of course, Your Majesty. How else would you be able to keep the Lancastrian House at bay?" She replied coyly. They burst into a fit of laughter, as Mary rubbed her numbing hands together to spark some warmth (and feeling) in them once more.

Both Richard and Edward looked to her in concern. Both were ready to offer some sort of service, but Edward had been quicker to voice his concern over her well-being. "Lady Mary, are you well?" He queried. "Would you like some mulled ale? They are serving some now before breakfast is properly served on the tables."

"No, thank you." Mary said.

"I must insist upon it." Edward said. Richard took her hands in his and began to rub on them to generate warmth as Edward procured some mulled ale for Mary. As Edward handed the mug to her, she felt the immediate loss of Richard's hand from hers, whose warmth she suddenly keenly missed. Swallowing her hurt at the loss of contact, she delicately sipped the warm drink and instantly felt relief at the warm liquid coursing down her. Her eyes closed in pleasure and she felt the corners of her mouth pull up in a smile. Humming contentedly, she tentatively wound her fingers round the crook of Richard's arm once more.

She felt the wanderlust gaze of the King upon her once again, making her shift uncomfortably at the unwanted attention and cast her eyes downwards. Many had told her that to have the King's attention would mean power beyond all imagination. But all Mary felt in that moment was the fear if her sister suspects, that if the King should pursue her… Mary did not want to have to fathom such a terrible fate. She knew though that he would stop at nothing to achieve his desires and that made him dangerous to her prospects.

As Mary looked back at the entrance of the hall, she saw the crowd beginning to dwindle in numbers as servants laid down the freshly picked fruits and hot food on the tabletops. Before Richard could escort Mary to a bench, the King requested of her: "Mary, would you allow me the pleasure of your company as we break our fast?"

She turned her head quickly back to him with a feeling of genuine surprise, though her features may not show it. Casually, she faced Richard, desperate for advice as what he warned her the night before began to resurface. His expression was one of impassiveness, indifference to her situation. She could not understand why he had suddenly been closed off to her, surely he would not forsake her in her hour of need?

But it seemed he did, as Mary had no choice but to accept the King's hand. Taking his hand, she felt an image rush forward before her eyes.

An image of a fertile, grassy ground splitting into that of a dark rift.

Mary came to an abrupt stop. Edward looked to her in concern, confused by the sudden halt. "Mary, are you well?"

"Yes, I am." Mary shook off the image. "I thought I had just seen something." As she looked back to Richard in defeat, he had a semblance of lifelessness, but he was clenching his fists again. Mary knew this was what he had been trying to help her avoid, but he was helpless in all of this. Would this encounter label her as broken goods?

But this seemed to be the least of her problems. As she glanced past Richard's shoulder, she saw her sister staring straight at her with unmistakably murderous eyes.

* * *

A/N: What do you guys think? Please leave a review, I would really like to know what you think :). Thank you also to LadyHallows for reviewing. Until next time, Nemo xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Mary felt Richard's discontented feelings towards the situation before he even voiced his feelings on the matter to her. With Edward now officially trying to entrance her with amorous temptations (as confirmed by the spectacle he made at breakfast in inviting her to eat with him), she felt nothing now but disgust at it all, at herself most of all. But her feelings were inconsequential at this point, Richard was most unhappy with the move his brother made with her. And Mary could understand: he did not want her to be another notch on his brother's bedpost. In truth, she did not know how she had acquired his attentions and why it had been her of all women to have captured his attention. She tried to ponder upon the situation as she rushed to the gardens, where she knew that Richard had slunk off to in quiet rage. Being one's closest friend, one would simply know where their friend would go. Clutching her kirtle delicately in one hand, she sauntered off to the gardens. 

Hearing the telltale thuds of arrows hitting a board and grunts of frustration that followed it, Mary deduced that his temper was rising. Walking past the bushes that separated them, she saw him come into view with his back to her. Archery range once more and he still could not notch an arrow dead centre. "Richard?" She called his attention as he was letting an arrow loose, causing him to miss the centre by a fraction. He let out another grunt of frustration and readied another arrow with a huff. Still, he did not respond to her. 

"Richard?" Mary tried calling him again, only to once again succeeding in fueling his temper once more. 

"What is it you want from me?" He asked in a steely voice, his sharp gaze not one leaving the board. "If it is my company you seek, then you will be grossly disappointed." He let loose his arrow, missing the centre once more by a fraction. He paused a moment. "In fact, why don't you ask my brother for it? You seemed to enjoy his company during breakfast, laughing at jokes as the Queen scowled into her goblet." He sighed in anger, still unable to look at her. "Mary, you had known that he desires you. Why is it that you did not refuse his invitation and encouraged him further?" 

"I could not refuse him!" Mary was almost offended at the suggestion. "If I could, I would have. But I know that my mother would have told me otherwise, that she would have needed me to keep the power within the family. I am not a boy, Richard." She heard Richard scoff. 

"Clearly, you are not." Richard muttered aloud. She glared in response to his ill-placed comment. 

"I do not share the same privileges or liberties as you. Thus you know that I had no choice on the matter; to refuse him would mean a disgrace to my family." Mary pleaded, as she saw his ire being provoked. 

"No choice?" He huffed in his anger. "No choice?" He turned sharply and marched towards her, carelessly tossing aside his unloaded bow. He grabbed her by the curve of her waist with one hand, his fingers digging into the material of her dress and molding into her figure, Mary felt her breath hitch. He tucked her left hand into his right and pulled her close to him. Their long, lithe fingers instinctively began to wound and intertwine with each other. 

Mary found herself taken aback by this sudden turn of events. She started to struggle against his hold upon her. "Richard, you are too intimate with me. I beg of you, release me." She protested, but Richard had just let loose a lugubrious laugh. 

"I did not think that you had much care for decorum nowadays my lady, or ever did. You have always spent your time in the company of men rather than women and have very few female friends. And not only that, you have the King seeking your attentions." Richard cleared his throat. "Now, tell me, are these the qualities of a decorous lady?" 

"No, but-" Mary stuttered, but was interrupted by a confident response. 

"If my brother caught you in this position and asked you to lie with him, what are you going to do?" Richard challenged. "Let him have his way with you because you had no choice?" He let out a bitter, hollow laugh. 

"I would push him away." Mary said plainly, with just as much challenge in her own voice. She would not be intimidated by him. "For trying to take advantage of me." 

"Then why do you not push me away? Or at least try harder to?" Richard asked, the hard set of his mouth portraying his struggle in controlling his emotions. "Am I not taking advantage of you? -Or is your judgement flawed?" He taunted. 

In indignation, Mary slapped Richard; the hit clearly and painfully resounding in the air. "I will not have you belittle me!" Mary cried at him, her pride hurt. She struggled against his hold, but he held her tight within his arms. "Why do you unleash your anger at me when your brother-" She stomped on the ground and wriggled against him. "Is clearly the intended recipient! I refuse to be caught in the crossfire!" 

"Why do you refuse to be so?- When many women would wish to be in your place?" Richard asked, the struggle between the two of them showing upon his face in a growing red hue. "Two York princes fighting over your attentions." 

Mary stopped struggling, her anger becoming steely. "I am not," she enunciated through her teeth. "Some prize to be won. I am not some creature that you can display its head upon a board. I am not some toy that you can obsess and fantasise about then toss away the moment you are bored with it!" Mary reined in her impetuous feelings, breaths measured slowly with closed eyes to clear her vision. She looked up to Richard's eyes and whispered with sincerity "My judgement is not flawed, or at least I am lead to believe that it is sound. I am not pushing you away because you are one of the few people I trust with my life and I trust that you will not try to take advantage of me." 

"Then clearly, my dearest Mary," Richard said tenderly, his temper softening, waning in its strength amidst her confession. "Your judgement is flawed, because how can I resist the idea of taking advantage of such a comely lady?" Richard said, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier hard set features. 

Mary smiled at him and laughed, her laugh sounding like wind chimes tinkling in the wind after a rainstorm. Pushing Richard away in her euphoria, she couldn't have escaped that easily away from him. Mary felt a slight tug on her hand, still entwined with his and was surprised to find herself twirled around, her skirts creating winds that blew away the leaves that dare fall upon her feet. Her giggles echoed throughout the garden, permeating the tense atmosphere from earlier and the grass became a more viriscent in hue, more youthful in its appearance and the roses bloomed with more beauty. In one fluid movement, he pulled her close to him, as if in an intimate embrace, one that certainly defined the depth of their friendship. 

"Mary, darling Mary, you know that I care for you deeply." He murmured to her softly, his tone tender and countenance loving. All around them, the atmosphere became quiet; no bird nor resounding crunching of branches could be heard, as if their breaths were held in anticipation, waiting for his next words. "But you know that my brother, whatever his claims, does not care for the affairs of the heart." He brought her hand to his chest, letting her long, pale fingers artfully splay against the dark blue of his tunic. "Rather, he desires the pleasures of the flesh." He brought her hand to rest upon her bosom, pulling his own hand away reluctantly. He brushed away some unbound hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, then traced a path down to her chin to push it up to face him with a gentle nudge. "I would so hate to see you hurt, so my advice to you is that you stay away from him as much as he can allow you. You need to let him lose interest in you." Insistent yet docile was his tone, his protective nature coming into play. 

"And what if he does not?" Mary asked, a childish fearfulness crept into her viridescent eyes. "What if he continues to pursue me?" 

Richard sighed, dropping his hand from her face as she rushed to gain comfort from him in an embrace. She buried her face against his chest, wrapping her arms tightly against his torso. "Let us hope not, for it will mean that I will have to try to intervene." Richard joked nervously. He hugged her tighter, his arms securely wrapped around her shoulders. And in that moment, he realised how truly young she was in comparison to him. How delicate and how petite she was in comparison to him! Only fourteen summers old and already she commanded the desire of a King. Not many women could boast to have done that and very few enjoyed its consequences. 

"Richard, then I must confess," Mary whispered in anguish, as if the very thought of what she was about to tell him pained her physically. "The King has requested my presence at the banquet, that I am to dine with him and Lizzie." 

He was dumbstruck. "Then I am lost to you. All you can do now then is wait until the storm has passed, for I hope that this is nothing more than a passing fancy." 

* * *

As Mary sat fanning herself of the sultry heat of the great hall, she felt herself shifting uncomfortably in her finery as the stares of all the courtiers fell upon her in curiousity. Others, she now noticed, regarded her with lust, an imperceptible gleam in their eye that sent trembles of disgust coursing through her. Bedecked in gold jewellery dripping with pellucid diamonds that winked prettily when candlelight hit it, the weight of the finery helped to keep her head as she sat atop her chair, the one she had been escorted to by the king himself. Her sister's gaze was upon her from the Queen's seat burned through her very being. Mary willed herself not to flinch at the fell looks her sister rewarded her with. The only good thing, it seems, of her position is that it gave her an advantageous view of Richard's reading. 

With her brother much too unhappy with her, Mary was unfortunate enough not to have been graced with his presence. With no one to converse with, Mary felt his anger and subsequent absence most keenly. In his rage, he refused to attend the banquet and his absence had been noted by many with the utmost glee. 

Mary absentmindedly played with the venison she had been served, having lost her appetite after taking only a couple of swallows as the King sat next to her, feasting with relish. Another poke from her was all it took for him to notice her lack of appetite. The candles flickered and the room dimmed as he did so, subtly. 

"Lady Mary?" He stopped chewing for a moment. "Are you not hungry?" 

"Your Grace," Mary acknowledged and painted her courtier's smile upon her features as she quietly exaggerated her feelings to him. "No, I am too filled with excitement at finally having to hear Richard's long awaited piece." Mary's heart let out an irregular beat at the white lie. "Richard has been working hard to make it a compelling piece and one to do Chaucer justice, or so I am told." She gave him one of her more plainer smiles, but it seems she had won over him again as she saw his pupils dilate. 

"Richard, Duke of Gloucester!" The court announcer proclaimed. Mary's attention was immediately turned to Richard, all thoughts of the king snatched and forgotten in her capriciousness, in her eagerness to see Richard's performance. 

The man in question walked forward, an air of grace surrounding him that commanded both the respect and attention of people in the hall. Bowing before the King and Queen, he saw Mary from the corner of his eye and rewarded her with a secretive smile as he did so. Impeccably dressed in a cream tunic finely trimmed with gold and a matching pair of ecru breeches, Richard looked every bit a York Prince with the exquisite tailoring of his clothing. His dark curls were neatly brushed to each side of his face, framing his slightly tanned visage. 

Holding his hand up in a signal to quiet down the murmurs, he thus began with, "Heere bygynneth the Knyghts Tale," his voice was gently echoing throughout the hall, quietly commanding the attention of his peers. A great orator in the making was certainly standing before them, the courtiers recognized his potential as his hands were now open and his stance relaxed. "Langue domos patrias, Scitnice poss aspera gentis. Prelia, laurigero, etc." He announced confidently, an aura of intrigue began to surround the room on how the story was to continue. "And now Theseus, drawing nigh his native land in laurelled car after fierce battling with the Scithin folk, etc." 

And such was his introduction. The courtiers watched Richard in mesmerisation, as he spun his tale with such enthusiasm and passion, creating an unmistakable mystique in their eyes. His body was at one with his actions, flowing gracefully from phrase to phrase of the poem. Men watched him with respect and admiration as the women swooned a little and stared up at him with little more than admiration, as if finally seeing him in a different light, rather than the eccentric boy he had been regarded as. 

But the section that did catch many nobles' attention was when Richard had looked straight to Mary and had begun to describe Hippolyta's sister Emily, "This continued year after year, day after day, until it so happened on one occasion on a May morning that Emily, who was more beautiful to see than a lily on its green stalk and fresher than May with its new flowers, because her complexion vied with the colour of the rose-" Mary blushed a pretty shade of the said rose and did even further when he admitted to all who had been present, "I don't know which was the more exquisite-" Women all looked to her in envy, but Mary did not notice. Words of flattery did not usually affect her in this way, but to hear it come from him, Mary did feel all that the word described and more. 

But she couldn't understand, these strange palpitations that resonated through her. His dark eyes gave colour to her alabaster complexion, staining it with dark shades likening to those of the deep vermillion petals of a rose. Yet, she stayed composed under the scrutiny of the many unwed women present. 

She took a sip from her goblet, as a dryness in her throat persisted. But when she had lifted the goblet to her waiting lips, Mary had found only a drop had slid down. She lifted her goblet to her side, a gesture to the attendants that she would like to have it refilled. Muffled steps came up next to her hurriedly as she kept her gaze upon Richard's form, unwilling to break away from his compelling performance. A heaviness began to settle upon her hand as her goblet was being filled, sounding almost ominous in nature, the metal being hit rung bluntly in searing pulses in her ears, like church bells ringing. 

Mary felt a gust of cold wing being blown towards her as the manservant had bowed and made his exit as hastily as he had come. Raising her goblet leisurely to her impatient lips, she paused a moment as a giggle was expelled from them at a point of Richard's act. A delicate sip was thus taken, savouring the tangy taste of the malmsey wine. 

A few further gulps was ingested, slowly swallowed. 

Richard's reading was certainly enjoyable thus far and the persisting heat in the hall encouraged Mary to sip a bit more of her wine, as it cooled her parched throat. 

Moments later, her surroundings melted from a warm, sharp coloured vision to blurred, hazy images of pastel colours. She felt herself swaying slightly, lightheaded and unable to see past the artificial mist that was forming before her eyes. Was it the strong, heady scents that surrounded her that caused this? 

She felt almost drowsy, numb even, her limbs lethargic. Her movements were slow, but was neither measured nor calculated. She slid sluggishly from her pedestal next to the king, her skirts acting as her impediment. Mindlessly ghosting through the hall with her eyes half-lidded, she raised the attention of all in attendance, even causing Richard to stop in an abrupt manner as she walked past him aimlessly. 

"Mary?" Richard called after her in worry. All eyes were upon her as she wandered towards the exit of the hall. 

But she did not respond. 

No noise was clear to her; all forms of sound was muffled in her ears like that of the man servant's footsteps. Upon making her exit from the great hall, she was met by a sudden gust of cold wind, a crepuscular corridor kept alight only by lonely embers and silence. A step beyond, then pain surged through her entire being, an unlit fire flamed within her limbs and her lungs burned in agony. Choking on the air she breathed on, she clutched her chest and scratched desperately at the furred bodice. The very air that surrounded her - cool air- burned, scorched her burning lungs. Falling unto her knees into a pool of velvet and taffeta, her vision failed further, the burning embers only orange blotches in her eyes. Before her head could hit the ground, she felt her burning skin being soothed by a warm touch that cradled her against a woolen tunic. 

Calloused fingers were tangled into her thickly coiled hair to support her head as it lolled from side to side. In looking up, Mary saw a blurred image of cream and curled ebony, one that seemed to peer at her. 

Mary felt the person, whomever it was, had been cradling her gently against their chest and had now used their knees as her support. Her vision blurred further, the person's features became sketchier, as if entering a murkier realm. Her breathing had further worsened, became dogged, more laborious. As she struggled to breath in, faint traces of a comforting woodsy scent filled her lungs, its memory of cold, fresh air acting as a balm that was soothing the burning sensations. But those sensations endured, the fire continuing to be coaxed out of her none too gently, triggering a series of coughs that racked her body in agony. Amidst her already deteriorated sight of brown and cream tones, a vivid red spot seemed to have been expelled from her body, staining the beautiful cream material before her eyes. 

Ragged coughs followed after it, each one summoning more and more of the red colour to the growing spot and welcoming more affliction. She felt the person tighten their arms around her slight shoulders and she felt more engulfed in warmth. It all became too much...her vision started to spin and the pastel colours evanesced into tenebrosity. 

* * *

Mary could -no, will- never forget the searing pain that had been bestowed upon her by whichever divine being decided to torture her. No words could fully describe the terrible affliction which she had been subjected to. Burning sensations raged within her and her skin was simultaneously being cooled and wet. The feeling had been too much for her mind to endure and so her mind departed from her earthly vessel that it may take refuge somewhere else. 

Walking in darkness, she felt helpless… almost aimless. But in the dimness, a burst of light blinded her and she felt the feeling of being wet once again. She had lifted her arm up to shield her eyes, but now she lowered it to find sketches of a dark forest being laid before her. The ground beneath her feet felt gravelly, dry… as if it was infertile, incapable of bearing offspring. A sour wind blew forth, tendrils of her hair caught upon her face. Mary felt herself turn back and found a boar charging towards her, its wild eyes looking straight at her. In her haste to get away, she tripped upon her skirts and stumbled on her side, with the boar galloping cleanly past her, drawing up faint trails of dust in its wake. 

As she stared after it, the boar seemed to transfigure into a body of waters, slithering smoothly down the dusty trail. Its colour was strange, black as the boar had been in its Stygian shade and opaque, but in its waters, dark streaks of bold crimson red and wooden swords floated. As it ran, it ran down the same crossroad path as the boar once had, many years past. Falling over the cliff, Mary saw no drop of water left behind on the ground, no moisture in its wake. She felt a cold wind blow past her and she turned back to see its source and only saw a mass of scintillating rays. 

She felt herself rushing back, gasping and feeling something rising from within her, impatient to get out. She lurched upwards and sidewards as she felt herself retching over the bedside, every fibre of her being desperate to expel these ill humours. The sour taste burned in her throat and the hair upon her face did not help, tickling her cheeks and nose. As she continued to convulse, she felt a weight dip next to her and calloused hands held back her hair. She felt her eyes burn at the pain of vomiting and her body sore, until there was no more to empty her of except her soul. 

She drew a heavy breath, sitting back up to get her bearings and observed the room around her. The sun had already risen, the sun's rays glistering dimly. The room was her own, though stuffier than what she was used to. Her throat was afire after her awakening and in her state of disarray, Mary had only just realised someone else was in the room with her as she heard pointed steps walking around her bed. Mary looked up, tossing aside her irritating curls to look upon her companion. There, sitting on a seat next to her bed, Richard sat smugly, smirking at her with a copy of Troilus and Criseyde in his hand. His own ebony curls neatly combed to both sides of his face and a fresh suit for the day, Richard looked exactly the opposite of what Mary felt: clean, composed and comfortable. 

She gazed upon him with envy, the cleanliness she was, at this very moment, desirous to obtain. "This is a very familiar scene, is it not dearest Mary?" Richard asked offhandedly with a smile to accompany his (seemingly) innocent remark. "We have become so accustomed to this that I feel this has become a routine already!" 

He moved towards her to help her plump up her pillows as she struggled to move properly without injuring herself. It irked Mary that Richard seemed so blithesome in her presence, but could not bring herself to fully fault him for it as he brushed the hair that had fallen on her face and tucked it behind her ear lovingly, coaxing an involuntary adoring smile to bloom upon her face. The affectionate moment seemed to last for longer than it should have as he gazed amorously into her eyes, but then in haste, he jumped up from her as if he had remembered something and walked over to her washstand. "How are you feeling now?" Richard asked conversationally (though a tone of stiffness was evident in his voice) as he brought a basin of water and a washcloth to her. 

Mary shrugged, still feeling the rasp and burn of her throat as well as the soreness of the whole of her body. As she tried to move parts of her body, she felt as if her legs were suspended, unable to move except for a twitch she had to force. She felt panic overcome her. But Richard was unaware of it all, as he kept his head down, squeezing the excess water from the washcloth. "Because you've been asleep for almost a fortnight, dear Mary. Many have been quite worried that you would not last the first two nights and many more were afraid that you would not wake from your slumber." He looked sharply up at her as he heard no response, and found her with a terrified expression upon her face. "Mary? Are you alright?" 

"Richard?" She whispered quietly, almost a ghost of her old self. "Why can I not feel my legs?" 

An expression of affliction overcame his earlier jocund features. He put down the basin of water next to her and sat himself down on her bedside, a pensive look upon his face. In meeting his eyes, Mary found a hint of sadness lingering in them. "Mary," He whispered just as softly. "What do you remember?" 

She stumbled on that question, it was one she did not expect from him. Richard had never been one to pry, but she supposed for him to ask such a rare question, it must be important. "I-" She saw flashes of darkness and low-burning flames, memories of sensations of burning and ravages of non existent flames within her lungs that threatened to spill to her throat. "I remember feeling as if I was being burnt alive, inside and out." She felt herself involuntarily touch the skin of her arm as if to soothe the imaginary flames there. 

As if in lament, Richard's eyes darkened and his head hung as if in grief in what to tell her. "Mary," He whispered painfully. "You had been poisoned, you may not be able to walk for a month or two at least, the court physician has said." 

Those words rung in her ears, repeating on a loop. You had been poisoned... "It had been pre-meditated, but of course things can go very wrong if the wrong people had been used. It was lucky then that you had not ingested as much food to have made it truly fatal to your health." 

Mary was breathing heavily, in panic. "What do you mean? Someone wanted me dead, murdered?" Mary said, her eyes widening. "I have not done anything!" 

Richard was quick to reassure her. "Of course, you have not done anything, but your connections alone can kill you." 

"Why had not anyone realised that there had been poison in my meal?" Mary asked, confused. "Did not the court taster taste my food?" 

Slowly, Richard expelled a long breath of tension. "Of course he did. But he paid the price for it with his life." Richard looked to her intently. "He ate a mere bite of your food, yet you had eaten nearly half of it! What had been so different?" 

"I- I do not know." Mary confessed truthfully. 

"Then I daresay that you may have been born with a strong disposition." Richard exclaimed, not believing that that could have been the true answer to the enigma that was Mary's assassination attempt. "But I doubt that this will be the end to any and all attempts that will be made on your life, dear Mary." 

"And my would-be assassinator? What of them?" Mary whispered, curious about what will be their fate. 

"They are to be executed in a fortnight, a period of time (we hope) will be enough for us try and be able to get information out of them. But it seems, that they would not relent any information." Richard revealed, but Mary felt that he was keeping more from her. 

"So, you have found my assassinator?" Mary asked, her eyes widening by the moment. Who could it have been?-And what reason could they have had to kill me? Mary wondered. In her desperation to sate her curiousity, she impulsively asked him, "Then, will you not reveal their identity to me or will it continue to be a secret?" 

To her disappointment, Richard shook his head. "I cannot say anything else, my brother has forbade me to say anything else. But know that it will be someone you would have never suspected" He muttered apologetically. 

"Then, Richard-" Whatever it was she was going to say, he was not able to hear because a knock came upon the oaken door and it opened to reveal the worried face of Anthony. 

"My Lord Richard, it is my turn now to sit with Mary, how is she?" He said in a tired voice, his eyes cast downwards as he made his steps as quiet as possible. But as he heard the muttered words being said in the chamber, he looked up to find his sister awake. The corners of his mouth immediately upturned to see his Mary awake. "Mary!" He breathed warmly. 

"Anthony!" Mary rasped in delight and bright smile that illuminated her visage, which was further made beautiful by the afternoon rays of the sun framing it delicately, giving her a seraphic glow. 

Anthony sat at her bedside in haste and took one of her hands, placing a delicate, chaste kiss upon it. Gazing upon her in wonder, he whispered, "I almost cannot believe that you are sitting here before me, dear sister. You had been asleep for so long I was almost lead to believe that you could only have been awoken with true love's kiss!" He said each word with care as he stared at her (and her him) in reverence. So much so that they had forgotten Richard's presence in the room with them. 

Richard cleared his throat and two sets of eyes looked to him, one in sudden awareness and the other in mild irritation. "I shall leave you two alone then and I shall inform everyone that Mary is awake," Richard stood and walked to the exit, his book at hand. His expression was hard to read and he bowed stiffly to both of them with a, "Mary, My Lord Anthony." And he thus left. 

Anthony turned his attentions back to Mary. "I am very glad you are awake now. I'd almost lost hope." 

"And what of the rest of our family?" Mary asked, genuinely curious. "What did they do?" 

Anthony lost his dreamy expression and it was replaced by a thoughtful one. "Mother seemed quite shaken by the ordeal and has retreated into the chapel for a majority of the time to pray. Elizabeth is quite… unfazed by your poisoning, or so she displays. Little Elizabeth and Cecily are constantly asking after you, already missing you badly. A fortnight deprived of your exuberant presence is too terrible a torture for them." 

Mary's eyes widened at his last statement. "Is that how long I have been asleep? A fortnight?" Mary rasped harshly. 

"Did not Richard tell you?" Anthony said, confused. 

Mary swallowed. "No he only told me that-" She caught herself before she was about to tell him the pieces of information that she was about to expose to him, that her would-be assassinator is someone she never would have suspected. Instead, Mary said, "That I will not be able to walk for the following fortnight. How very inconvenient." She tried to state lightheartedly. 

"Yes, how very inconvenient." Anthony said drolly, rolling his eyes at her antics and humouring her. 

That sent her spiralling into a fit of giggles and triggering Anthony into one as well. But she sobered with realisation, or maybe a fear… "What if I will never be able to walk again, Anthony? Or what if I will need a stick to walk?" 

Anthony smiled at the paranoia she was displaying, her cheeks flushed from the mix of emotions she was embroiled in. He dismissed it with a calm shake of his head. "Mary, I am sure that that will not be the case. If it does come to it, then I shall be your stick. But I dare not believe that your disability will endure. You are still young and healthy, you will recover soon, I am sure of it because-" He gave a pause and looked to Mary pointedly, "What do I always say, dearest sister?" 

She rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Amor vincit omnia, brother." She recited. "Love conquers all." Upon saying this, Mary's eyes widened dramatically in faux realisation. "I never took you to be a romantic, brother." 

Anthony guffawed at that remark, he certainly did not expect that response. "Only in your eyes, Mary, would I ever be seen as a romantic." 

"No, I should not think so. Many unmarried ladies are vying for your attentions. Why should you deny them that romantic nature of yours?" Mary teased. 

Anthony laughed yet again at the cheeky smile that graced her features, but then stopped short as she heard heavy footsteps echoing throughout the hallway outside of Mary's chambers. A frustrated cry of "Brother, wait!" rang ominously in their ears. Anthony stood to meet whatever was coming towards them, as Mary clung on to her bedsheets to cover her already cloaked form. "Brother, what is happening?" Mary whispered nervously at Anthony's stiff form. 

Staying still, he whispered back. "I haven't the slightest idea." Gripping the wood of the back of the chair, his stance stiffened further, his muscles tightening as if to spring as the heavy foot let me have a look." 

But he did not need to. The oaken door burst open (leaving Mary to wonder later on how the hinges still kept it in place), with dust billowing from its spine. It opened to reveal the King, with an expression of wonder and an appearing happiness. "My Lady Mary!" He cried in utter joy as he swaggered towards her with grace and ease befitting of his station. Mary thought he looked almost breathless, but Richard (who had ran after his brother) looked to be exhausted, almost unable to keep up with his elder brother's long strides. 

The King approached her with such ease and intimacy that Mary felt the whole of her body shrink away from him, her body unconsciously moving under the covers as if to be absorbed by them. Yet he smiled at her as he strode towards her bedside, as she (as well as the spectators in the room) eyed him with suspicion and confusion. "My Lady Mary!" He cried yet again, and moved to kiss her hand, which he had done in quick succession. Mary discreetly wiped her hand down her covers when he had finally let go, as his fingers left ghosts of prints. "How very happy I am to finally see you awake and looking much healthier than previous. I was impatient to see you, so I made my way down as soon as I heard the news!" He confided to her. Silence befell the room as the King's observant eyes darted across Mary's placid facade. In a state of impulsiveness, he leant forward and cupped her face, pulling her to him. She saw from the corner of her eyes that both Anthony and Richard had reacted, springing forward as the King pressed a small kiss to both her cheeks. 

She felt… a feeling of revulsion at his touch, how could she not? This was not a normal behaviour of the King towards her, this was most usually reserved for her sister! Mary felt her eyes widen as the King pulled back, allowing her a view of her open door, to find her sister there, watching her with with eyes that looked shattered at what she had witnessed. 

Her sharp steps echoed within the room, causing the King to turn to the source of them. "Edward?" Mary heard Lizzie say. "What are you doing?" 

"I am merely greeting my sister-in-law." The King replied innocently. "Am I forbidden to do such a thing?" 

"Brother-" Richard whispered in his dark tones, his darker gaze focused upon the King. "Your conduct suggests otherwise." 

"As long as you remember that Mary is your sister-in-law and nothing more." Anthony growled. Mary looked up to find her elder sister restraining her brother with her arm as he struggled to get to his own brother-in-law. 

The silence that followed was charged with heavy, unbidden tension filled with ragged breaths, expelling anger. "Edward?" Lizzie's voice infiltrated, permeated the thick cloud and acted as the soothing remedy to the men's temper. "I suggest that you should leave now before any kind of rumours are borne from this instance, before any reputations are to be spoiled." 

The chair that the King had been sitting on scraped painfully against the floor in his anger, his footsteps an echoing reminder of the painful display that her sister had to witness, the infidelitous nature of her husband that lurked beneath his faithful facade. Mary felt the burning, unforgiving gaze of her sister scorch into her very conscience before leaving the room to confront her husband, leaving her to deal with two of the most important men in her life: her brother and her best friend. 

But in her moment of need, her brother had abandoned her, leaving her feeling more alone than ever. This abandonment, this betrayal gave her such pain that it forced tears out of her eyes, leaving them to run out in the open. Her body began to shudder as sobs had begun to take place and she sought for comfort in Richard's arms, as he wrapped them tenderly around her and kissed her forehead; she weeped until she could no longer. 

* * *

A few weeks later… 

"No, Richard! I don't want to go there, I want to go to your sitting room." 

Mary wobbled forward, leaning against Richard in an effort to walk to a slow path of recovery. Appearing to be healthier with rufescent cheeks, she seemed to be recovering from her attempted poisoning. She laughed aloud at herself when she stumbled upon a rock as the weather became windier, wilder in its strength. Nobles walked past them, nodding at both herself and Richard in acknowledgement of their presence. 

The woolen dress Mary wore kept her warm in her pursuit of arriving at Richard's sitting room, which had been the nearest warmest place Mary could think of as the weather was getting colder as the season of Christmas was rapidly approaching. "See, we are almost there!" Mary sighed in happiness as she caught sight of the entrance to his sitting room. "At last, a place in which I can put up my feet." 

Richard stopped them abruptly, a smile growing upon his face. "Who says you are going to put your feet up then?" He arched his eyebrows at her, daring her to challenge him. "Who says you can't do it now?" 

"Whatever do you mean?" Mary asked, looking to him with eyebrows pleated together in utter confusion. 

"I meant this!" And he swept her off her feet, earning a surprised squeal from her. 

"Richard! Put me down this instant!" Mary demanded, but could not wholly keep her voice commanding as the whole situation amused her. He carried her in quick succession and with such ease, as if she were a mere garment, light and unmoving. But, unfortunately for Mary, she knew she was neither. 

"Richard! I demand that you put me down!" She ordered once more. "You will hurt yourself and then the court physician will have two troublesome patients upon his hands rather than the one." She argued, but it was to no avail. 

"My deepest apologies, dearest Mary, that I have thought of your well-being instead of my own." He remarked sarcastically, as they neared the entrance of his receiving room, only a few more steps away. 

"How very touching, yet my thanks, dear sir, that you should think of me more than yourself." Mary said, reciprocating the sarcasm he presented before her. "Take care, or many may start to believe His Grace to be in love with me." She teased, oblivious to the effect it had upon him, as a light blush coloured his cheeks. 

When they had arrived, he let her down to lean against the cold, stone walls as he opened the heavy wooden entrance, to reveal a warm chamber with proper chairs that made Mary almost cry with joy, as she could only sit upon cold, marble benches the whole morning. The crackle of the fireplace coaxed a sigh out of her, leaving Richard to be entertained by the whole scenario. He moved to carry her in the room and carefully set her down against the wooden chair (made soft by a few cushions) that was closest to the fire. He pulled up a chair and positioned it beside her; but before he could sit down, he took up some furs and poured a glass of water for Mary to drink. Draping the furs generously over her, he made sure that she was properly covered before giving her the glass of water to sip upon. 

When Mary had accepted the glass of water from him, Richard moved across the room, towards a dark mahogany cabinet. He opened it and took out a wicker basket, containing Mary's sewing articles and brought it to rest close to her feet. As he did so, he could feel Mary's gaze resting curiously upon him. Upon second thought, Richard decided that he would engage himself instead with some work, as much required his attention and he had not done anything to relieve himself of the burden. As he was setting it down and walking away, she asked him, "How did you know that I was going to ask for it?" 

Richard shrugged nonchalantly. "I had just known you had wanted it. We both know that a restless Mary is terrible company." He had said as he walked to his writing desk. 

She smiled at that, knowing his words to be true. "So then," she started to say. "What are you going to be doing in the meantime, while I finish sewing these shirts for the poor?" 

"I will be finishing my negotiations as well as send letters to the overseers of my lands, in anticipation of the winter. It is not as if my brother will be the one providing for them. As a matter of fact, I think he will be the one looting from them." Richard announced to her, almost bitterly, as he sat down. He looked out to the window, where the landscape was darker than what a September day should look like: skies tinted with monochromic shades of melancholia. "I fear that this coming year will bring many unseen tragedies." He whispered forebodingly, his expression bordering on disquiet and terrified. 

But Mary had not seen it, nor heard his quiet declaration. "Richard, I am almost well." Mary said conversationally, as she continued stitching the garments and he tried to write with so much on his mind. "Do you think I will be able to talk to my assassinator?" She asked, her tone almost bland in her fear of being rejected this simple request. 

The scratchings of Richard's quill stopped abruptly. "Why would you want to do that?" He queried, quietly flabbergasted by her question. 

"Because I want to know what drove them to do such a thing." Mary answered. 

"Yes, then whatever madness drove to do that would most likely drive them to kill you in their cell!" Richard cried, dropping his quill in his passionate outburst. "Don't you see, Mary? Your plan of interrogating them could go into a vicious circle that we would have no idea how it started. Your death-" he spat the word out, as if it terrified him so much that he could not keep it in his mouth a moment longer, "-would mean nothing then, just an unsolvable mystery." 

"If it should come to that, then it will." Mary said decisively, an aura of calmness radiated from her. "But, I doubt that you have gotten any proper answers out of them yet, have you?" Richard's silence was answer enough to her. "Very well, when will I be able to visit them?" 

"Do not think we will reach a resolution on this matter that quickly. Especially one that could damage any part of you, even if it is not seen." Richard warned. "If word of this gets out, it could ruin your reputation." 

Mary laughed aloud, a laugh that carried tones of irony, sending shivers down Richard's spine. "Reputation? What reputation? If I am to marry, a respectable gentleman will not be one that mother and Lizzie will choose. I certainly doubt it, they will most probably try to marry me off to a gentleman who lives far away from here, so that they may not have to see me anymore, and neither will the King." 

"Then, your safety could be breached." Richard argued. "You could catch a sickness from them or they could try to physically harm you within the cell." 

"And that is why you are going to be there, dearest Richard, to watch over me like my guardian angel." Mary said sweetly at him, making him feel as if he has no choice but to accept defeat. 

He scowled, visibly displeased by the notion of allowing Mary to approach her assassinator. And she would not be persuaded otherwise. Stubborn girl! Richard thought angrily to himself. The fire crackled on as the room was charged with uncomfortable tension, yet still the silence endured as Richard argued with himself and Mary waited, her stomach twisting in anticipation. 

Moments passed as Mary halfheartedly tried to continue her sewing, her fingers fumbling to get a decent stitch as she awaited Richard's decision. 

"Mary?" Richard whispered. She whipped her head up from her work and looked to Richard with a blank face, to hide the feeling of excitement and anticipation from him. But she should have known, Richard had been her bosom friend for a while. 

He smirked at her, amused by her attempts to hide her true feelings from him when it was so clearly being reflected in her eyes. "I shall allow it, this visit of yours." 

A gasp of surprise escaped her once tightly-sealed lips, but then released her needle in quick succession to cover and contain the giggles which had begun to escape her. Richard stood and made his way to her side. "But," He held his hand up to regain her attentions. "I will only indulge this visit of yours on the condition that you are to be guarded at all times and that you will tour the lands that my dukedom entails with me the next summer. Is that agreed?" Richard knelt next to Mary's chair, his eyes locked with hers, pleading for her to accept them. 

A smile had crept upon Mary's face as Richard had stated his terms. They are easy enough to follow, thought Mary. She nodded. "Very well, Richard. I accept your terms, only that you keep to your word." Mary agreed, unable to keep the smile from her face. 

"I vow to keep my promise, then." Richard replied, also unable to keep a grin from appearing on his face. 

Within a few moments, Mary cried out in elation and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you for this, you will not regret it." Mary vowed. 

With her arms embracing him in her state of felicity, she did not hear Richard's soft whisper into her cascading waves of gold: "I hope not, my dearest Mary."

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you guys enjoyed that! I am so, so sorry for the late update; it's been more than a month since I had. It's just been so busy here, with productions and everything I barely had time to process things. I will try to update quicker, but I can't guarantee it since exam season is coming up.

Remember, I really like constructive feedback, so please review! Until next time, Nemo xoxo


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Moonlight enshrouded her still surroundings, enlightened select features but she found herself being awakened amidst the beautiful peacefulness. 

"Mary?" 

Whispers seeped into the quiet atmosphere of her chambers and she felt her irritation growing as the whispers rooted itself in the room. A warm hand shook her shoulder. She let out a muffled moan into her pillows but fell back into a chasm of dreams, only to be pulled back out once more. 

"Mary?" 

The whispers became more insistent, more forceful, more desperate for her to wake up. Her eyes snapped open, the darkness welcoming her into reality. Her eyes looked round furtively, looking for the source of her awakening. Her eyes stopped searching when they had eventually rested upon the ethereal looking figure of Richard, as informally dressed as she. She smiled a moment, he looked like an angel straight from the bible. But she realised as her mind began to wake up that it was really him. Mary sat up post-haste to cover herself as she realised her state of undress in front of a member of the opposite sex, her closest friend even! 

She scuttered away from him, taking with her the blankets and furs that had covered her and pulled it closer to her, as if to shield herself from his eyes. 

"Richard!" She cried in whispers, her sleepy state vanquished by her surprise in his coming. "What are you doing?-And here of all places!" 

The man in question looked on in amusement, as she struggled to cover herself with the sheets each falling in different directions and couldn't manage to hold them in place. He smirked as she continued to struggle under his gaze. "Now is your chance to visit the prisoner whom you have been wanting to meet." Richard told her, all amusement gone and urgency replaced it. "You may not get another chance like this, for they are to be executed on the morrow." He grimaced at the thought. 

Mary felt her heart drop for even if they tried to take her life, she reasoned in her head that there was no point in taking theirs; it would only fuel more attempts from various parties. She thought to herself before responding. "Give me a moment to prepare," she told him softly. But as he looked to her with bright eyes (almost lighting the caliginous chamber), Mary sought to scold him. "And turn around! Grant me my privacy!" She hissed sharply in the dark in an attempt to reprimand him, though was only able to succeed in humouring him further. 

As he turned his back to her, he heard gentle rustlings of sheets- no doubt Mary trying to pull her sheets with her as a precaution if he dares try to take a peek at her immodestly dressed figure. He smirked to himself but granted her the privacy she asked for, although he was tempted to take a small peek. 

Moments passed and rustling continued to sound throughout the room, until Mary's meek voice called to Richard. 

"Richard?" She whispered, voice quivering- possibly due to the cold, though how he wasn't shivering, Richard did not know. 

He hummed in acknowledgement of her call. "Richard, I need help tying up my-" Mary gulped. She needed this to be done, but with another's help. "I need help tying my-my stay." Mary finished her sentence in a rather pitiful manner. 

With his back still turned to her, Mary did not see his eyes widen in a comical fashion. He gulped too, but still he would not turn to her. "Why do you need me to help you?" He said his words carefully, he didn't expect this scenario. "Can you not do it yourself?" 

Mary became indignant at that notion. "Richard, be sensible!" She stomped her foot to emphasise her point. "If I could do it myself, then I wouldn't have asked you!" She scowled at him. 

He smirked to himself but endeavoured to keep his voice confused in tone. "But then, here I thought you were taking pity on a poor man such as myself." He heard her snort. 

"You are hardly poor and as to whether you are a man," Mary grinned to herself, amused at what she was about to say, "That remains a question." 

"I do not think it does!" Richard harrumphed, offended at having his manhood questioned. "Must I prove it to you?- For I would gladly do it!" 

Mary chuckled to herself as she watched Richard descend into his old antics. "There is no need for you to do such a thing; only you should man up and help me finish dressing, we are wasting valuable time." 

He rolled his eyes and surrendered. "Very well, but make sure you are at least decently covered." 

Turning round slowly, Richard closed his eyes to give Mary a semblance of dignity despite the situation that they found themselves in. Oh dear Lord, what if someone came in and found them in this compromising position? It could ruin her reputation or even worse, her prospects! Richard knew he would never forgive himself for that, if it does come to that. He breathed in a deep breath but kept his eyes shut as his hands blindly searched in the dark for the laces of her stay. 

Cold hands stopped his futile efforts and it clicked in his head. Her hands were too cold for her to properly grip the laces. In his hands, Mary placed the laces of her stay gently. It seemed like instinct, he knew what he was doing despite her initial apprehension being contributed to the fact that he may not have known what he was doing. But how was it he knew? All thoughts though left her mind as his fingers brushed accidentally against the material of her corset and sent her blushing to her roots and breathless at the innocent swipes, though her breath quickened as the stay tightened. 

At least it had been over quickly as she hadn't known how she would have continued to have stayed still. As soon as Richard tied the knot to secure and fasten the stay, Mary quickly fled his clutches and retreated into her closet that she might pick a simple garment and at the same time, allow her the space to straighten out her skewed thoughts. 

What was happening to her?

* * *

Her heart was beating rather strangely, skipping in unusual beats. It sounded exotic but it was painful. 

Mary felt the pain keenly as she was being escorted to the Tower. She wondered if they could hear it, marching soundlessly as they flanked her. Surely they could! The sound deafened her ears. If they couldn't hear it, then surely they could feel it; pulsating fiercely through her and unto the ground, it was as if she was throbbing inside out. Surely Richard could feel it, his hand searching blindly once again, this time for her hand. His fingers tentatively brushed against her pulse and Mary could see from the corner of her eye that his own eyes widened and wordlessly took her hand, gripping it reassuringly. 

Smiling softly to herself, she watched as the sunlight, scintillating as it was, disappear from her view as she entered the lower levels of the dungeons. 

It was hot, she first noted, stiflingly so. It made her skin prickle irritatingly and gave her terrible thoughts to do with the fur piece that enveloped her neck (but not about the hand that provided to much warmth in that moment). Their surroundings were filthy, dirt clinging to the craters between the bricks. The smell was unpleasant, malodorous in fact. Mary thought to herself that she wouldn't be surprised if she heard that the prisoners could die due to the smell alone. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. She swore that as she looked up ahead, she saw the ethereal figure of the woman who had haunted her dreams before gliding gracefully in the filth that thrived in abundance here. And the dark… 

Mary gripped Richard's hand tighter, her breath quickening. The sound of a wolf's howl began to echo in her ear… 

She stopped abruptly, halting the guards behind her, their expressions betraying no emotions, no question. But Richard's eyes held the questions for them. 

"Mary, are you well?" He asked gently, his mien calm as brows furrowed in confusion. His voice echoed ominously throughout the dark corridor, sending chills up her spine. It reminded her too much of the visions that plagued her dreams. 

Awoo! 

She forced her eyes to keep open, terrified to see the wolf materialise behind her eyelids. "Richard, do you not see?" Mary whispered, desperate to ensure that no echo would resound. 

Richard wasn't though. "See what?"- Sent dark tones echoing throughout the long, dark corridor. Shivers ran down her spine as the howls came, unwanted but inevitable. 

Mary flinched. "It's dark." She whispered, pained in both appearance and tone. 

It had been the only piece of information he needed to know. Realisation dawned on his face, whose light was sorely missed in this place. "Oh Mary, I had forgotten. Forgive me." He said apologetically, careful now to ensure that his voice was gentle and silent. 

Richard turned to the guards who had trailed behind them, his features hardening. 

"The Lady bids you to light a torch." He commanded. His voice had not been unkind, but was still firm in its delivery. 

One of the soldiers had produced a wooden torch from a hidden niche a few steps behind the party. To ignite it, the soldier proceeded to the entrance they had come through and thrust the torch into one of the burning fires that had stood erect at the entrance. 

He made his way to the front of the party, leading the way by holding the torch in front of all of them. Mary could see the soldier's shadow flickering eerily against the walls, creating abstract shapes that she dare not decipher lest the fear would spring once more in her heart. Clinging to Richard (he did not seem to mind all that much), she tried to control fears that threatened to spill over and expose themselves for all the world to see. 

It was a relief then when the guard who had been leading them stopped in front of a cell. Turning round to them, the guard took his position at the opening of the cell, a little dark opening in the stone wall. Mary made out flickering shadows that moved constantly. She gulped as the guard clutched the iron wrought, rusting door of the prison and opened it with a strong tug outwards with a loud groan. 

Richard stepped ahead of her as she inspected the entrance, as dingy as it was and the rats squeaking in the well-hidden crevices of the arch. She gulped before Richard gingerly offered his hand to her to lead her through the arch. She took it with an air of decisiveness (how couldn't she? It was her plan!) and delicately hitched up her kirtle to avoid stepping on the grime that littered the floor in abundance, languishing on the floor in palpable clumps. 

The cell was small and the smell didn't prove to be any better than the outside. Mary felt her nose wrinkle involuntarily at the smell and she saw Richard was tempted to do the same as he inspected the cell. She thought to herself that he should be used to it, having been on campaign and all. A pile of straw was sat in the corner of the cell, with a small form sitting on it uncomfortably, hunched over their knees. Nails were filthy, unwashed. It was as if they had no access to water or anything they could clean themselves with in the weeks they were imprisoned. What terrible treatment! 

"If you've come to kill me already, you should have brought me a priest first." The form said in a droll tone, the voice painfully familiar. Mary squinted her eyes and forced her eyes to adjust to the blinding darkness and tried to walk closer to the form with trepidation. Before she could, she felt a warm hand catch her arm before she could move forward. She turned her head in quick succession, to find Richard's piercing eyes flashing at hers with warning. "Do not be hasty, Mary." He said in a low voice. 

The figure scoffed. "If you think I am ready to kill her again, you are mistaken my lord. As far as loyalty goes, mine will go beyond the grave. A lot of good that will do me." The form said the last sentence with such despondency that it moved Mary irrevocably; it's tone finally made sense in her head, the demureness evident. 

"Joan, is that you?" Mary asked tentatively and tried to move closer to her, but was stopped by Richard's form as he moved in front of her, ready to take any shot that the figure would do. She instinctively moved closer to him, his woodsy scent more comforting and wholly more acceptable than the horrid smell in the hole that gave her dark shivers. 

"My lady?" Joan's voice held a tinge of surprise as well as a hoard of sentimentality at being recognised by her former mistress. She tried to get up to greet her mistress but did not have enough strength to do so. Instead, Mary put an asking squeeze upon Richard's shoulder to allow her to get close to her former lady's maid. She knelt before Joan, making sure to keep her cloak underneath her kirtle so as not to ruin the fabric with the filth that lined this cell. "Oh, my lady! I do not know how to apologise for what I've done!" Joan cried in despair. 

Mary tried to calm her down, shush her growing distress at the guilt Joan had kept bottled up within her. It must have been a terrible feeling, the guilt ravaging the soul and conscience and ripping it to shreds. Joan continued to sob into her hands, her body shuddering with the force of it. "It is of no matter to me now, I am alive. I had forgiven you in my heart when I had first opened my eyes, I could not live with anger in my heart. I only came down to talk because I wanted to learn of your motives, of why you wanted me dead." The thought of Joan wanting her dead gave a dull jab to her heart. 

"No my lady, you were mistaken. I hadn't wanted to murder you! I had loved being in your service, you were always so kind to me, but my wages weren't enough. My father had gambled away what income I had provided for our family and I was too ashamed to ask for more of my lady's kindness. I looked elsewhere for other jobs I could do to raise the money my siblings needed and I found it. I was tasked with it because my family was in deep debt and we needed the money so badly!" She hiccuped as she said her confession to Mary, who had become intrigued by it. She hadn't wanted to murder her! 

"You had need only to ask me for the money and I would have given it to you! You had done me many good years of service and I would have gladly repaid it." Mary said in comfort, which only seemed to drive Joan deeper into despair. "Who had asked this to you?" She asked quietly. 

Joan shook her head violently. "I am not obliged to say, my lady." Joan said aloud. "They have forbidden me to reveal their identity." Mary felt her heart begin to sink with discontent at the thought, but then Joan pulled her in close to her. Mary tried not to offend her by staying still, her rancid breath hot on Mary's ear. "For you see my lady, the guards that stand guard are their spies, secretly in their debt. As for their identity, I tell you this milady: it is a lady of the river." 

Mary felt her eyes widen at that and she wanted to press on at the topic. But she couldn't do so as Richard alerted the guards at Mary's breach of safety. The guards stormed in and pulled the prisoner apart from Mary, her voice unable to work as Richard pulled her away from Joan. "My lady, forgive me! Please forgive me!" Joan cried pitifully as they were separated brutally, Mary's arm outstretched, reaching for her old servant. Richard pulled Mary out of the cell, fearing that the prisoner would do something like that again. She wished that she had stayed and fought because as soon as she left the cell, she heard Joan's grunts of pain as she was surely being tortured. She could hear the men shouting at Joan, "You are a witch! Were you trying to kill the lady again?" Pained groans emanated from the dingy cell. 

Mary fought to get back to Joan, distress overriding her logical mind. "Joan!" She cried. Richard tried to keep a hold of her and when he could not, he instead began to carry her, so that she might stop fighting against him and be powerless to do so. Tears fell down her flushed cheeks against her will as she began to beat Richard's chest in her anger. "Why would you do this? Why would you take me from her? She was not in any way harming me!" Mary cried, trying to stifle the sobs. 

When he did let her down, she could not help what she did next. She slapped him with all her anger. His expression was one of shock, but she did not let it get in the way of her finding out what was going through his thoughts in doing that. "How could you? She repented for her crime, not that she was successful with it! She did not even wish it, Richard!" 

He did nothing but stand there, waiting until her anger had passed over for her temper was like that of a cat's run: short bursts of energy. "Mary, I was keeping my vow: that I would protect you whilst you made your visit." 

"Keeping me safe? From what?" She fumed. "She would be unwise indeed if she was to kill me in the cell with you!" 

"Have I made a mistake then in trying to protect you?" Richard growled, but it didn't scare Mary. "You know that if you had died in that cell, it would be me answering to your family. And you have a very powerful family as well as a king who is interested in bedding you!" He pointed out aggressively. 

Richard pointing out the king's interest in her irritated her profoundly. "So, my not getting killed in the cell was a blessing because you would not have had to answer to my family?" Mary said in an acute whisper, tears creeping out of her eyes. She felt the sobs rising in her. 

Richard realised his mistake. Hesitantly, he tried to bring his hand up to stop her from crying and tried to reach out to her. "Mary." He said, but it was too late. He groaned inwardly at the slip of tongue as she ran away from him in tears of betrayal. 

What had he done?

* * *

Mary found herself in her bedchamber, where she knew she would be left alone with her thoughts, undisturbed. She collapsed (rather dramatically, might I add) on top of her bed, with tear-stained cheeks. 

Who could have commissioned such a terrible crime? Who would have wanted me dead at such a price? 

A lady of the river… 

Who could that be? There are so many women who could fit into that category. But it had to be a woman with a clandestine sort of power, who could influence behind the scenes without being noticed herself. 

The opening of her chamber door interrupted her thoughts and Mary groaned aloud in frustration. "Richard, I have nothing at present to say to you. Leave me be!" She cried, her back towards her intruder. 

"Mary, what has Richard done to you?" Mary felt her rib cage collapse in surprise; it wasn't Richard. It was Anthony. What was he doing here? 

"I thought that we also weren't on speaking terms, brother." She whispered in a low voice. "What is it you want?" She asked, her voice almost hollow, if not for a hint of bitterness at the ignorance her brother had paid her. 

She heard a heavy sigh behind her. "I was coming to look for you, because we had received important news." He said, but then a wave of a hand could be imagined behind her. "But it is of no matter at present. What has happened between Richard and yourself?" He asked, concern and anger swirling behind his calmly delivered words. 

Mary rolled herself over to face him, the tears starting to stream down her cheeks once more. She couldn't keep this from him, not like this. She hiccuped slightly as she crawled over to the edge of the bed that was closest to Anthony as he pulled a chair at her bedside, the furs tickling her a little that it incited a bit of a giggle in her. "But you must swear an oath to me that you will not let anyone know of this." She croaked pointedly, her eyes tumescent. 

Anthony looked at her solemnly. "Of course, sister." He tenderly took her hand. "You have my word." 

Mary slumped against her covers, burying her face in the sheets to find comfort in them, to find the strength to revisit what had earlier transpired. "I had gone to meet my assassinator." She admitted quietly to him, avoiding his gaze as she was sure that it was fiercely burning, feeding upon the rage of the circumstances. 

"Sister," He whispered lethally. "You had done what?" Mary looked up to see his reaction, his fingernails digging so dangerously into the polished oaken wood of her chair that she feared that he had damaged its facade. She answered him with silence, the tension now palpable between them with what had started as an encounter of comfort instead turned into one of interrogation. "Mary, I shan't repeat what I've said. What have you done?" 

She looked him straight in the eye, unafraid of his temper. "I had gone to meet my assassinator." She enunciated slowly, punctuating each syllable that he may not misunderstand her. 

She hadn't expected his next move. 

Anthony suddenly leapt up in a lithe manner and took her by her shoulders, shaking sense into her. She felt the force of his fingers, yet he seemed to have been controlling himself as they were gentler with her than she had expected, gentler than he had been with the chair, at least. 

"Pray tell, what had been going through your mind when you had allowed yourself to do that?" He snarled, Mary could see his eyes shining dangerously though as he brought her close to his visage, inciting a gasp of surprise from her lips. "Did you not think of the possibility of your assassinator attempting to take your life once more?" 

"No, I hadn't thought of it." Mary admitted painfully. "But she wouldn't have done it with some guards and Richard present, that would've been-" 

He lunged his face closer to hers, his eyes widening in his anger and his skin blushing scarlet in his temper. "She could've, dear sister, she could've!" He uttered through clenched teeth. "Do you not see the possibility that you could've been killed, snatched from m- our family once more!" He roared. "What gave you the idea that it would be safe for you to acquaint yourself with your assassinator?" 

"I did not think of my safety," She said calmly, hoping to soothe his ire. 

"So what was it that had brought you exactly to that cell?" He asked, almost mockingly. He let go of her and paced round her room, uncomfortable with sitting still. "Was it your curiousity? Your unquenchable desire to understand what had driven them to make an attempt on your life?" When his questions were met with a silence, Anthony felt his eyes widen in horror. He looked to her sharply, his gaze unbelieving. "No, Mary you would not. Please, say you did not." 

"I will not deny that I went to relieve my curiousity on the matter." Mary put her hand up to stop her brother from bursting and roaring at her lack of a denial. "Please, let me speak." She gestured with a wave of a hand towards the chair that he had been almost mutilating in his attempt to rear in his anger. "Sit, please. I had gone to meet with my assassinator to understand their motives. Before that, I had constantly speculated in my thoughts who they had been and the reasons to take my life. 

Thus imagine my surprise when I have found my assassinator not only to be someone who I knew, but was someone I had held dear. It was not an idea I had been prepared for but when she had confessed to me that she had not been the mastermind behind the assassination, I had believed her." She admitted to her brother, who she could see was struggling to bear the weight of his anger. 

"Her?" Anthony questioned calmly as a darkening brow arched itself, but his fingers still dug into the varnish of the wood. "Who had it been, sister?" He expelled from himself the question he had been burning to know. 

"You would not like it, Anthony, if I told you." She whispered to him, almost soothingly. But it seemed to catalyse his rage further. 

"Mary!" He barked, leaning forwards as he began to breathe heavily. "Pray, do not keep this from me. Because I will rip this country apart to find who had done this to you!" 

"Then why hadn't you done so already?" Mary asked, a hint of annoyance beginning to be coaxed out of her. "It has been a long time since my recovering and still you had done nothing about it. Tell me why then you had done nothing then I will tell you who it had been who had tried to make an attempt on my life." 

"You will not like it either, sister, what I would tell you. It would be best if you had told me what you have kept from me thus far." Anthony proclaimed tiredly 

"It had been my lady's maid, Joan." She replied quietly, not wanting to meet his gaze, her eyes swerving to the ceiling of her poster bed. "And what could be worse than that, brother dear?" She challenged him. 

A moment of silence had passed as Anthony had collected himself. Mary's eyes still wouldn't meet his, her line of sight now fixed upon some gold tassels on her bed covers, glistening and dulling at once. "Lady Scales has married, at long last." He announced quietly. 

"Oh?" Mary asked, surprised by the sudden news. It hadn't been something she had been expecting. She wasn't exactly disappointed at the news either. "Why haven't I seen you then at the end of the aisle?" She tried for a cheeky smile, but it had melted immediately when she realised his mood wasn't one for jesting. 

"It is because it is Warwick who was the groom, not I." He admitted, rather emotionlessly. It was as if he was suppressing the pain within him. 

Mary expected a feeling of happiness at the news. Nay, elation. This has been something that she has been praying for for years, since the conception of her betrothal to him. Not that it had ever progressed to that of matrimony, for which she was now thankful for. But now, that happiness had come at a price. Her brother now suffers in silence at the thought of the woman he loved marrying one of their family's bitterest enemies. It must have shattered what heart he had left. Gracefully, Mary stood up and went to kneel on his side, taking his rough hand in hers, in an attempt to comfort him. 

"Anthony, she must not have truly loved you." Mary said. "After all, if she had truly, then amor vincit omnia. She must have only been after your status and your title." 

"Why would she have been after my title? She is suo jure Baroness Scales, what would she want from my title?" Anthony scoffed. "She's had her own fortune to revel in, what would she have needed from me? Now, she's got Warwick's fortune under her thumb." 

"What should that mean to you, brother?" 

"It shouldn't have meant anything, dearest." He muttered soothingly, despite the lone tear stealing away on his cheek. Mary stood and slid her arms round him to offer comfort, tucking his head under her chin. He began to speak a mindless monologue that radiated strong doubt and bitterness. "Do you know the feeling, Mary? Of having to dream of your whole life but then having that dream snatched within a moment's notice?" 

She shook her head. "You will know that feeling soon enough, with our family continuing to be on the throne. I sincerely doubt that any of our family will be given a chance at love; I seem to have already lost that privilege." 

And her heart wept for him and pondered for her own.

* * *

Dinner that night had been a grand feast for an occasion that no one but the King seemed to know. The feast was as merry and as ostentatious as one would imagine his feasts to be, with dancers and jesters providing a show as the courtiers dined and talked amongst themselves. It seemed everyone had been merry that day, excepting Richard and Mary, who had placed together as was the usual seating plan nowadays. They sat in their world of silence as the outside world continued on in loudness and refined vulgarity. It had only been broken when Richard decided to break their tense atmosphere. 

"Are we to continue to resign ourselves to this terrible silence?" Richard questioned, his voice a little husky from disuse. He gave Mary a side look. 

"I did not think that I was the one who had jailed you to a prison of silence. You can talk to others around you, Richard." Mary pointed out, as she sliced delicately into her venison. "Being unsociable makes you more unlikeable, dear." She added condescendingly. 

Richard growled frustratedly. "I hadn't started this conversation to have you insult me. Can you not see?" Richard asked pleadingly. "I am trying to apologise." 

"Well," Mary said disappointed he didn't try to put up more of a fight. "Am I that easy now-a-days to beg forgiveness from? How very flattering." She grinned hollowly. "My brother would not have called me an easy forgiver." 

"Of course you are, Mary." Richard stated, his expression morphed into that of disbelief. "Anyone who doesn't call you merciful will surely meet a death as grisly as that of sinners; you are practically a saint, dearest." He said solemnly. 

Mary giggled uncontrollably at the advantageous facade he managed (not) to convince her with and it seemed that everything was becoming right between them. "So, this is the point in which you and I become friends once more?" Mary asked teasingly, no longer wanting to have such a tension-filled atmosphere next to him. Despite their argument having only been that very morning, it saddened Mary greatly that she couldn't talk to him or even be in his company. She felt almost hollow without his presence there to amuse her. 

"That was the plan, Mary dear." Richard said, cheekily grinning at her. "Now, will you indulge me your forgiveness and proclaim our friendship restored?" He wiggled his eyebrows comically, making it harder for her to refuse him such a request. "Mary, your response?" He asked charmingly. A moment passed as she decided to keep her decision from him a moment longer. So he decided to use a method that would immediately extract it from her without much effort on his part: tickling. With her bodice being thick, Mary couldn't feel the full force of his tickles. But it didn't mean that she couldn't feel it at all. 

Her pallor had become pink at the force of her subdued laughter. "Alright, alright!-it is now pax between us. Heavens above, Richard, you will make any woman forgive, whether by your charm or by your hand." She breathed heavily and tried to compose herself. 

"Mary, you must know by know my charm as a single entity is an irresistible force." Richard smirked as he took a sip at his goblet. She chortled at that as he gave her an one-armed hug, pulling her closer to him. 

Their display of amicable affection had been interrupted by that of a light cough from behind them. 

Reluctantly, Mary turned round to see who it was and smiled as she found Anthony standing there, his eyebrows creased, whether with annoyance or anger, Mary could not tell. Nevertheless, it hadn't dampened her spirits and thus greeted him. "Anthony! What brings you here?" Mary inquired, mirth evident in her courtly smile. He shuffled slightly, revealing a noblewoman who was about a year or two older than Mary herself. "And who have you brought with you?" 

"Dear sister, may I have the pleasure to introduce the Honourable Lady Blanche Depenser?" Anthony announced with an air of formality as well as a forced nature of contentment that fooled everyone else except his sister. "She is a second cousin of Lady Isabel and Lady Anne, as her grandfather was the youngest brother of the Ladies Isabel and Anne's grandfather." 

Lady Blanche curtsied with grace as was expected of her station. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Mary." Lady Blanche gushed. "Your brother has told me much about you." 

By introducing herself, Mary was allowed the opportunity to be able to study the woman before her. Her colouring was fair whilst her hair was flaxen, though russet strands in her hair made it darker than it seemed. Lady Blanche was slightly round, but not overly so that it made her appear plump. In fact, it seemed to Mary that it made Lady Blanche seem more agreeable to suitors in that she had more to offer than herself, who was more willowy in her structure. But there was something about her that made Mary instantly wary of her, as she began to realise a familiarity in the colour of her eyes. Those glaucous orbs had spied at her discreetly from across banquet halls at various times, when she herself was not conscious about it. 

"Oh?" Mary asked coyly, a smile appearing upon her lips. "And what has he said about me? Good things, I hope?" She grabbed the goblet nearest to her and took a sip. Odd, it was empty. She hadn't had a drop of wine the whole evening. She looked into the goblet and felt a tap upon her shoulder. 

"Mary, that's my goblet." Richard said, his cheeks flaming in embarrassment at having interrupted a conversation. 

"Oh, my apologies." Mary said, hastily returning it into his care as she made a grab for her own goblet. She turned back to Lady Blanche, who had a soft, blank smile upon her features but seemed to have an irrepressible emotion that blazed in her eyes. "Because you see, my brother would take pleasure in any situation in which he could push to recommend himself further and slander my reputation with untruthful statements. Really, he finds the whole thing quite amusing." 

Mary gestured for her to come closer. "Secretly, I think he enjoys it when any suitor who has taken an interest in me has been repulsed by my imaginary faults and leaves me for another. To be frank, it is a wonder that Richard has continued to be my most enduring companion despite his sex." She giggled at that thought and so did Lady Blanche, who despite her initial apprehension at liking the lady in question, had resulted in having been won over by Mary's infectious charm. 

"What has prompted my brother to introduce you to me?" Mary asked teasingly, eyeing both of them cautiously. "Is this a new lady love, Anthony dear?" 

Both of the mentioned parties blushed. Richard decided to join in the teasing looking for another source of amusement for himself. "No, dearest Mary." Richard said in an exaggerated fashion. "I think he was trying to introduce you to more female companions. I think he fears that you will turn into a man yourself and then where would he be?" Richard looked to Anthony dramatically. "Having one less sister and another brother." 

Mary playfully slapped him as Richard enjoyed his joke at the expense of Anthony. "His Grace is partially right, dear sister. Only I had not noticed you, dearest sister, growing the part that so distinguishes males from females." Anthony said, a smirk blooming upon his handsome features. 

Both Mary and Lady Blanche blushed at the ill-hidden, lewd remark as both Anthony and Richard had (unexpectedly) bonded over the joke. It had been a miracle indeed when Richard had at last stopped and decided to make conversation with their newest addition. "My Lady Blanche-" Richard was softly interrupted by the woman in question with a soft wave of a hand and a gentle, musical voice. 

"Blanche, please." She said. "Let us all speak plainly with each other, for I think we are about to be fast friends." 

Suddenly, Richard's eyebrows stiffened from its easy, playful demeanour into one of the courtly facades: bland and difficult to read. Had not Mary have known him so well, she would not have recognised his sudden change in temperament. "You've barely known us a night yet you claim to think that we are to become fast friends." He said bluntly. "How are we to be sure now that you are not just here to extract plots from us? That my brother has sent you to seduce either of us-" He gestured to himself and Anthony, "and manipulate from us false statements?" Mary put a calm hand on his knee to subdue his misplaced suspicions, which she felt was taut from the tension he was feeling. With her hand upon his knee, she felt him slightly calm down, but nevertheless retained his stance. 

She smiled demurely, unfazed by his sudden accusations. "You wouldn't know until we have been well acquainted with each other, Your Grace or Richard, if you prefer?" She asked unassumingly, but the way she seemed to address him familiarly gave Mary sensations of unknown origins. She couldn't quite place what is was she was feeling, this swarthy feeling that seemed to clothe her heart tightly and send it galloping in rather strange beats. 

"Then until that time, my lady, you cannot presume to call me by my Christian name." Richard returned curtly, immediately dampening the mood of the foursome. 

Mary saw that Lady Blanche continued to look at Richard with unbridled interest, but how could she not? Mary thought to herself. Richard was one of the most interesting people she knew. 

Anthony gave a small cough and asked the Lady a question. "What is your opinion thus far on my sister?" 

"She is," She made a show of thinking and scrutinising Mary as Mary began to lean on Richard. "She is a very mysterious beauty, your sister. She looks as if she was pulled from a myth of nymphs and muses yet she acts as one of us, though was more witty than I expected." 

Richard scoffed. "As she should be, Mary is no ordinary girl; she is like no other" He boasted proudly, sending Mary into a mixed feeling of embarrassment and pride. 

"Indeed, your esteem for Lady Mary does you credit, Your Grace. " Lady Blanche seems to have almost been teasing, nay mocking, Richard's address as if she was trying to make a point. 

Richard seemed to almost be irked by her presence and tried to make a hasty retreat with elegance. He stood and bowed to the Lady Blanche. "My sincere apologies for having to break up this rather stimulating conversation, but I find myself longing for some fresh air." He turned to Mary, his eyes communicating to her a covert message to understand the true meaning behind his words. 

"Mary, would you like to accompany me as I get some fresh air?" Richard asked politely, though it was almost certainly a question that expects only one answer. Any other would be deemed by him as the wrong answer and thus unacceptable. He offered his hand out to her, making it more difficult for her to refuse his suit. 

"Of course, I'd be delighted." She delicately took his hand and arose from her chair to stand beside him, tucking her hand at the crook of his arm instinctively. 

Richard turned to both Anthony and Lady Blanche. "My Lord Anthony," Richard inclined his head as a sign of farewell. "My Lady Blanche," Another inclination. "Good evening to you both." 

And Richard led Mary away from the boisterous festivities and into a place away from the court's prying eyes. 

* * *

From Richard's sitting room, the merry-making of the court could still be heard, though only in faint thrums of music and the occasional string of high-pitched laughter. In entering the room, Mary immediately removed her shoes and let her feet dig and revel in the copious amounts of skins and rugs on the floor. The rugs had been put into the room after Richard had heard Mary complaining of the draftiness of the sitting room and thus decided after listening to a mindless suggestion that he put more rugs in place to make her more at home. 

"The Lady Mary has at last decided to remove her shoes; how scandalous!" Richard mused out loud as he poured glasses of wine for both himself and Mary, inciting a chortle from Mary's lips. "Now, what are we to expect next from her? The removal of her stockings?" Richard said suggestively. "It will be a wonder then that your reputation wouldn't be compromised!" He began to laugh uncontrollably, though he strove to maintain some control as he held liquids in his hands. 

Defiantly, Mary put a mocking pout on her features. "You very well know, Richard, that I adore your carpets. If you continue to mock my love for them, then you might never have the pleasure of my company once more." She declared imperiously, but because of the youthfulness she radiated, Richard could not help but laugh at her declaration. 

"I sincerely doubt that, Mary, neither you or I will be able to separate from each other long. We will forever be tied to each other." Richard said, putting down the glasses of wine in his hand and pulling out Mary's chair for her. 

"I hope you will make good on that statement, dear Richard. I might haunt you when we're both dead." Mary jested. 

"I sincerely doubt that could happen, for I would be more likely to haunt you Mary." Richard said, with an air of seriousness. He took their glasses and handed one to Mary, who immediately took a sip from it and delighted in its tartness. Slowly, Richard took a seat by Mary's feet and leaned back unto her legs as both of them watched the dance of the flames, their little feet crackling. 

"Now that, I will doubt, for you will always be there to make me laugh and chase my fears away." Mary said softly, a gentle laugh came from her as she played with strands of Richard's thick hair. 

His cerulean blue eyes found her own in quick succession and he took her small hand in his own calloused ones and brought it to his lips. Where his lips met her skin, Mary felt tingling sensations pulsing strongly in that area and sent delicate flutters in her stomach into a frenzy of excitement and nervousness. She could not understand this feeling, much less understand how it was Richard was able to ignite it. It must be some malady from drinking the wine, Mary had thought to herself. Whatever the cause of it, nothing prepared her for when her heart had galloped faster than ever when he uttered the words: "Of course I will chase your fears away, for until death will do us apart, your fears are mine as well." 

Her breaths became shallow and her lips parted in shock at the seriousness of declaration. Dear Lord, what is this strange feeling?

* * *

A/N: Hello! I'm back! I am so sorry for the late update, I've literally just finished a whopping blood bath of a week. I had 7 exams in a week, so it is fair to say that I am exhausted. I am happy to finally be back to writing and I had already begun to drop hints about what will happen; I just hope it wasn't too obvious! Don't forget, I really like constructive feedback as well as your own thoughts on what might happen! Until next time, Nemo xoxo


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Her head was pounding. Hard.

Very hard.

It felt like her head was being split apart by the strong blow of a heavy axe or her skull was being drilled from the outside in. It was certainly a very pleasant awakening.

Mary's eyes fluttered open and upon doing so, she squinted as the sunlight hit her newly awakened eyes. Heaving herself out of her bed, Mary staggered groggily towards her washstand; taking a pause on one of her poster stands. She took hold of the porcelain bell and in her sleepy state, began to shake it half-heartedly. The rings of the bell echoed emptily throughout her chamber. Moments passed as she began to slumber in her wait for an attendant to assist her in her dressing, but no one seemed to come. It had taken her another few moments to realise that she had, at present, no attendant. She began to mutter to herself, "I must visit Lizzie to ask for a new attendant; goodness knows I need one."

She poured herself a bowl of water to wash her face with and as she dipped her fingers in, it shocked her, the stinging coldness biting into her warm fingers.

In her dressing, it had taken her double the time to prepare than if she had Joan to help her (a sadness began to manifest in her mind at the thought of the fate of her former lady's maid) and by the end of her preparation, she felt more than ready to succumb once more to the clutches of Morpheus. She was already fully garbed in a day wear of the deepest cobalt blue and her hair fixed to a reasonable standard (she only really could do plaits to keep it from her face, and so the rest of her untamable curls came tumbling in waves of gold). She was beginning to get a cloak for herself and could not decide on what cloak she would've liked to use that particular day.

A heavy, foreign knock came upon her chamber door. Foreign in the sense that she was unfamiliar with the rhythmic beat of the knock. Richard always had two sets of four taps whilst Anthony walked in without an introduction.

"My Lady, I bear a package sent by His Grace, the Duke of Gloucester." A messenger announced through the thick, oaken wood. Mary felt her intrigue rise at what could have been sent to her and approached the entrance in quick succession in her curiousity.

With a great pull, she heaved the door open. "Good morrow, my lady!" The messenger greeted with a hearty smile. For a moment, Mary studied the messenger before her. The boy was tall, but not overly so with chestnut locks tucked under a cap mandatory for his job. His livery was clean, with some creases in some parts. His youthful visage seemed to indicate to her that he was older, just about Richard's age, and certainly livened up her morning, as he had an infectious, toothy smile that coaxed one out of her as well. Involuntarily, her cheeks began to lift themselves up against her will, forming a reciprocated smile. When she had done so, the boy's eyes widened a little and his earlier pale cheeks began to flush at the sight before him.

"Good morrow to you as well. What is it you have brought for me?" Mary asked almost laughingly at the increasingly reddening of the boy's cheeks and had begun to lean against the door.

He began to stutter. "M-my L-lady-" He spluttered incoherently and began to cough in a violent manner, dropping the package he had been carrying.

Her eyebrows creased together in concern at his sudden outburst and rushed forward to catch the messenger as he began to quiver in his fit all thoughts of the package forgotten with the boy's unexpected plight. Mary opened the door wider in panic and ushered the boy in whilst scanning the corridor for any witnesses. It was fortunate then that he stopped coughing as soon as she laid a hand on his shoulder because then the mere glimpse of a man in Mary's room and unchaperoned could have compromised her reputation. As he heaved in breaths, Mary walked away and poured him a glass of wine for him to drink; he took it down in quick, short gulps.

"Are you in better humours now?" Mary asked teasingly, as he wiped his mouth of any wine that might have dropped.

The boy had taken an unnecessary gulp before answering her. "Yes, My Lady. My gratitude for your quick thinking." He bowed. Mary gave a little giggle as she made her way over to the fallen package.

"And what is your name, good sir?" Mary asked, calling back to him as she was kneeling down. She let the package sit on her lap as she unravelled its ribbon, revealing a cloak in a colour that was reminiscent of the rich Burgundian wine that she was so fond of.

"They call me James, my lady." It made Mary smile a little (as did his name) at the garment as she lifted the cloak to inspect it more thoroughly. Mary let a silent gasp escape in her amazement. Its collar and arm openings were lined with supple ermine fur. She ran her fingers through the lining, feeling the warmth and softness that it was so famous for and immediately understood why its price was exorbitant in nature. Mary smirked to herself quietly as she thought to herself the hit that it had taken upon poor Richard's fortune. In lifting it up further, a small piece of parchment fell unto the floor beside her.

The messenger must have noticed as he had given a small cough. "My lord bids me to escort you to him." He said. As he did so, she noticed the fallen parchment beside her. Mary opened it and read the note inscribed upon it:

Mary,

I await you in the archery range; perhaps

The new cloak has met your undoubtedly high standards and will

Finally give you the confidence to attempt

To outshoot me,

Your beloved Richard.

His last line made Mary smirk dangerously (and blush a little), his pride (it seemed) inflated larger as he realised (when, she could not say) that this colour pleased her greatly. She stood up and clutched the cloak in her hands, proceeding to fluidly drape it across her shoulders and putting her hands through the allocated arm holes. Putting on her woolen gloves, Mary straightened herself. "Lead the way then." Mary said, gesturing for James to lead her to Richard, who was (she realised) left waiting for quite some time.

* * *

"-we've lived near this castle for generations. I really can't imagine my life not being here milady." James chattered on. Mary was becoming consistently amused at her companion as he seemed to have an endless list of topics that he could talk about. The shrubbery of the archery range was fast approaching and Mary could see Richard patiently waiting at the mouth of the entrance, which was marked by an arch of bushes, bestrewn with white roses and twining with each other. He was dressed in dark clothing (it seems that he has taken a particular liking to royal blue garments), sheltered fashionably by a sombre black cloak. Despite the dreary nature of his choice of wardrobe, it hadn't stopped Mary from seeing a grin bloom upon his pale features.

In her excitement, Mary swept up her kirtle in one hand and rushed towards him, eager to showcase for him the lovely gift he had given to her. She barrelled straight into him and he had caught her in a whirlwind of an embrace, her cloak billowing round them like the Lancaster rose burgeoning its crimson petals. Their impetuous laughter at seeing each other after a few days apart caused an even greater improvement to Mary's temperament and when he let go of her, Richard let her stand once more upon her feet. Their laughter had suddenly died down, the atmosphere quickly thickening around them. Her arms were still round his neck and his upon her waist and their eyes met, immediately locking upon each other. His startling blue eyes searched her own and dropped down to look to something else lower than her eyes.

Her heart began to pound, like her head had done this morning. Only this time, the axe was being handled by her heart and it was threatening to split her chest open. Their faces seemed to inch closer to each other without their knowledge, as if instinctual. Mary's breath had been caught in her throat and she felt as if she could barely breathe, a hazy curtain settling itself in front of her eyes. Her eyes began to droop lethargically as their faces continued to move closer to each other, anticipation for something she was not familiar with was pending, ready to jump the moment whatever it was had happened.

It was a pity then when they had been interrupted by Mary's newly found friend, James, else something could have happened. "My Lady!" He had called to them, instilling the pair with a sudden awareness of their surroundings, leading Richard and Mary to separate immediately, disappointment clear on their features. "My Lady!- You had dropped your kerchief!" James cried out, walking briskly before coming to a sudden halt before the pair.

He handed her her dropped kerchief and continued to possess a sunny smile, one that Mary noticed was more directed at her than it had been directed at Richard, whose expression seemed to be crossed between that of sourness and amusement. Mary reached out daintily for her kerchief and smiled at James in gratefulness. "Grammarcy, James." Mary thanked him and directed another of her smiles at him, inciting a blush from the boy's cheeks.

Richard gave a small cough, causing both Mary and James to look up to him with innocence. James stumbled to make an excuse to leave their presence. "My Lady, I must excuse my… myself to continue my duties. My Lord." James performed a clumsy bow and slowly stumbled away, ambling reluctantly back towards the main castle.

In companionable silence, Mary and Richard watched James walk away from them, Mary watching on in amusement and Richard with indecipherable emotions flickering across his face. "Well, Mary," Richard pronounced in a flippant manner, "It seems that you have managed to charm another one."

Mary was taken aback by that statement, she couldn't imagine that that would have been the first words out of his mouth. "What do you mean 'another one'?" Mary asked, tone bordering on indignant. Smirking slightly, Richard turned to give her a knowing look. She was shocked, to say the least, that he had thought that she had managed to charm the messenger that _he_ had sent. In her mind, she thought that James and her managed to be on friendly terms, as much as one could be with the gap between their social statuses. All the same, Mary decided to play. "Are you jealous, Richard? That someone else has managed to win my friendship and in a lesser amount of time than you?" Mary poked, almost smirking at the look of an internally squirming Richard.

He muttered to himself, an incoherent sentence and series of breaths that to Mary was unrecognisable. She strained her ears to hear him speak the words. "Richard, don't mumble!" She chastised in playful frustration, her lips threatening to erupt in uncontrollable laughter. "Say it again."

He shook his head vigorously, beginnings of a pink colour making itself known to her. "It is nothing." Richard muttered, his eyes training the disappearing form of James. Mary felt a smile creeping up her lips as Richard's colour deepened in shade, but chose instead not to act upon the impulse of further teasing her closest friend.

"So, my dearest friend," Mary started, feeling quite cheeky. "What has prompted you to gift to me a very sumptuous cloak?" As she asked the question, she spun and swished its extensive length about in a show of her delight at it. "I do not think I am so very deserving of this cloak and I must pity your fortune for the very hard blow it has sustained to finance such a garment."

Without a word, Richard turned and walked back into the archery range in slow, measured paces. Mary felt confused at such a sudden movement and its slow execution. Indeed, she almost wondered whether she had offended him in some way in referring to his fortune (which was abundant in amount, she was assured, for so young a Duke and that had not yet included the yield of his lands). "Richard!" She called to him, but he didn't stop moving away from her and his form was starting to be covered by the greenery of the archery range. When he continued to move away from her, Mary swiftly picked up the layers of her kirtle as well as the hem of her cloak (not wanting to ruin it on its first outing) and ran after him. "Richard!- Where are you going?" Mary called out in confusion. The green hedges obscured her view of Richard, as he was long gone and down another path. She scanned her meagre surroundings, not recognising this particular path. Almost reluctant to continue down this questionable path, Mary sighed to herself and drudged on, the grass crisp and damp beneath her feet from the morning dew.

"Richard!" Mary called out, not for the first time. She was getting a little queasy at the constant green colour surrounding her. "Come back!- What are you doing?"

Her question was ended with a gasp of pleasant surprise. A smile grew upon her features, the queasiness dissipating in the face of this unexpected arrangement. Her hands flew to cover the growing surprise.

Before her was the archery range; but next to it was a spread of lavish foods to break fast with. Freshly baked bread still emitting heat and bowls overflowing with motley fruits of various sizes. In two tall bottles, Mary recognised her favourite Burgundian wine looking at her expectantly, as if they had been waiting for her to take a good long sip at it. She licked her lips in her thirst for it.

Richard stood next to the spread, which had been laid neatly on an oak table under the shade of a tree, his arms opened wide to showcase what he had prepared for her. "Richard, what was all this for?" Mary whispered breathlessly, her eyes wide at the simple gesture. "I feel as if you are coddling me now; what is the occasion that is so desperately needed?"

He lowered his arms to be behind his back and began to innocently walk towards Mary, schooling his features to not give away his utter pleasure at Mary's positive reaction to his arrangement. "My dear Mary," He started, "It has recently occurred to me that to-day is a momentous day for someone. Someone has grown to be four and ten years."

In a dramatic fashion, Mary's viridescent eyes grew wider; her long, dark lashes brushing against her flushing pallor. Richard laughed at the comical sight before him of an awestruck Mary. "I've not known a quiet Mary," Richard proclaimed, a smirk playing upon his features. "What says she?" The rhetorical question was asked and answered immediately. She tackled him into a tight hug, taking him by surprise as her braids were beginning to become disheveled at the sheer force that she had tackled him with.

"I did not think you would be so thoughtful of me, Richard!" She cried in utter contentment. Pulling back, she smiled so widely she felt as if her face was threatening to split itself apart. "How did you come to know of it?" she questioned teasingly.

Richard opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out. A slight gurgle was heard, originating from Mary's stomach. She began to blush a rosy pink colour and Richard began to smirk amusedly at the sound that indicated her hunger. "Mary, as much as I would like to enlighten you on how I had come to possess that specific piece of information, you need to first attend to your needs." He said pointedly as he dragged her towards the breakfast table.

A bright squeal could be heard reverberating throughout the clear, morning air.

* * *

Mary's vision was spinning, as if she was looking through a piece of glass that was wrought with swirls and bumps. She tried aiming her arrow straight at the practice board, but she could see various circles of divers colours winding round each other in endless perfection. She could hear and feel the giggles emanating from her, a tinge of bordering madness could be heard. She felt her body swaying in her tipsy state, her grip on her bow and arrow slackening. Curls broke free from her plaits and cascaded in ringlets across her forehead. Mary felt warm hands gently grip her wrists and the bow and arrow slide from her hands.

Her brows creased in confusion and consternation, primarily due to her loss of contact with her bow. "Richard, why are you taking my bow from me?" She whined and pouted for good measure. She could hear his chuckle echo endlessly into the thick wintering air. The snow had not begun to fall yet, but the wet and frigid weather was beginning to get harsher, indicating a promise of the terrible season ahead to be endured.

With her hands empty, Mary began to sway again; her hands in search for an object to lean on as the world spun carelessly round her. Shades of green became a kaleidoscope as she felt her head spinning, finally stopped when a warm hand came to settle itself upon one of her swatting hands and another scooping the expanse of her waist so as to get a better hold of her form as Mary threatened to collapse on the damp grass. "Mary?" He whispered gently, hoping to arouse her from her drunken state.

It had become of no consequence.

"Oh!- My Lord Richard, I had not expected you to be here!" Richard turned round to find the source of the surprised voice. Behind him was an opening of the labyrinth-like garden, which had accommodated Lady Blanche's arrival. A hood covered her hair, protecting her head from the mild cold. Her eyes were unsurprised at the display of Mary and Richard, though he could make out that her lips were pursed as if she was displeased about an unknown offending object. A dark green cloak was swathed upon her shoulders, barring the view of what her attire might have consisted of. Richard felt himself inwardly groan at the unwanted turn of events, with Mary and her new cloak draped across his arms in her drunken stupor like wine spilling over fingers.

"Good morrow, my lady." He greeted plainly, though he felt himself exerting effort at holding Mary up. "How is it that I may help you in this fine morn?" He asked rhetorically, though he knew that she would answer all the same.

"You can't quite help me, I'm afraid." She said, almost despondently. Then her features quirked up, as if in sudden thought. "But it would please me greatly if _you_ ," Richard and Mary (though she was a little tipsy) swore that they could hear an emphasis upon this word, "And my Lady Mary would keep company until the luncheon banquet will commence as I have no other engagement that would keep me occupied otherwise." Said she in a regretful manner.

Richard sighed inwardly. "I am sorry to say that neither of us can keep you company for the time being as you can see that Mary-" Richard lifted her up further into his arms to hold her easier, Mary's head lolling to the side as she succumbed to a light slumber. "Is quite indisposed."

Lady Blanche was quite unperturbed by his statement. "And you, my lord?" She asked innocently. "What is to keep you detained as my Lady Mary sleeps?"

In his frustration, Richard's brows creased together and fought back the urge not to roll his eyes. "How does what I do affect you, my lady?" Richard asked curiously, genuinely confused at why the lady in question has continuously pursued him if he has made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in her. "I would not allow myself to do anything atrocious to you, if that had been your primary worry." He thus gifted her with an amused smirk, which had incited a light blush from the Lady Blanche. But he had not seen it as he looked down at Mary, who he found was fast asleep in his arms from intoxication. He felt himself smile softly at the sight of it. He gathered her up in his arms to take her back to his sitting room and excused himself from the Lady Blanche's presence in a mannerly fashion.

Stalking off towards the direction of the palace, Richard heard the lady he had previously left behind call out to him, "And will I be seeing you at supper, my lord?"

Abruptly, Richard found himself halted in the process of journeying back. He calculated his answer in his head, taking his time in doing so before turning his head and not his body before answering in a clipped tone, "If it will please Mary, then it shall happen."

* * *

Mary felt her lashes brush lazily against the canopy of her eyelids and the warmth of her cloak envelope her. A warm fire crackled sporadically just in front of her and a hard, carved wall was stopping her from rolling backwards. Slowly, she twisted her head to see what it was that stopped her from rolling over the side.

The backrest of an ornamental bench, with swirls dipping and curving to form intricate designs.

With great effort, she pushed herself up with her hands pressing against the velvet cushions that she laid upon and bushed the stray curls away from her face. She moved her arms to brush away her cloak and found the said material to be heavier than she expected it to be. Mary's gaze quickly scanned it to see what had made it so cumbersome. It was not the rich vermillion colour of her new cloak that had greeted her; instead, a rich _royal blue_ had made itself known to her. Under its weight, Mary grunted as she pushed it off from her slight frame.

A darkly light chuckle coaxed a gasp to fall from her lips and her head to whip round and see what it was that had produced the sound.

Towards the back of the familiar, spacious chamber, Mary was met by the sight of a busy Richard. His head of Stygian curls was buried deep in paperwork as his quill scratched furiously against the delicate fibres of the offending parchment. "Richard?" She croaked. A sudden pounding had begun within the confines of her mind, causing a groan to escape her lips. "What am I doing here?"

Without a word, Richard stood up with letters gripped between his fingers and the quill gripped between his right pointer finger and thumb. Mary noted that he had shed his outer layer and had instead left on his chemise and his breeches as the heat of the room demanded it so, causing her to blush and involuntarily avert her eyes away from his frame at the informality of the situation. She had only really seen her brothers and her father in this state and no other.

"Ah!" Richard quietly exclaimed. He still had not looked up from his work. "The dead has awoken from their sleep!" He scratched a couple more words before completely abandoning his work and putting his undivided attention upon Mary. He walked round his polished, chestnut table and towards Mary with a cheery expression glittering his eyes.

"You have been slumbering for too long, dearest." He remarked amusedly before sitting himself on the cushion that Mary had earlier rested her head upon in her sleep.

With the convenience that Richard was there, Mary laid her sluggish head upon his shoulders and took in a deep breath to awake her senses. She could smell the sweet smell of ashed wood and Richard's woodsy scent. As she had done so, she felt his arm drape itself across her shoulders; on instinct, she cuddled closer to him and turned to open her arms and embrace him. His voice aroused her senses a little as he uttered, "Dear Mary, would you like to go riding on the morrow?" He asked the request gently, so as not to startle her in her drowsy state. "I have acquired for you a new mare which I think you will grow to love very much. We can take her out tomorrow and see if you both take a liking to each other, though I do have very good taste."

She felt surprise amidst the sea of which Morpheus continued to submerge her in. "But you have already given me such a costly gift and you have gotten me a horse as well?" Her croak of a voice was disbelieving, to say the least. "I have half a mind to refuse such a gift."

Richard smirked. "And you have half a mind to accept it." He retorted quietly.

She could not argue, not when more than half of her was asleep. Thus, her only response had been a quiet hum that told Richard she was accepting it. With that, a comfortable quietness had ensued throughout the room.

"Mary?" He whispered almost deliriously with drowsiness, the warmth and dimness of the room influencing his current state.

She hummed in response.

"We have to move to the banquet hall for the dinner my dear brother has organised." Mary could hear the roll of his eyes at the thought of having to go to it. "We will both be sorely missed if we are not in attendance."

She groaned lightly at the thought of having to move with the pounding in her head enduring past this conversation. With concern, Richard cocked his head slightly in her direction, his brows arched quizzically. "I would loathe to be in attendance; I'd miss it just to vex Lizzie." Mary said, a vindictive smile forming.

Richard's head snapped to hers in surprise. "You know very well that you can't do that," He said knowingly. "You must know that your sister will most likely send a servant to fetch you and you wouldn't want the poor boy to freeze out in the open?" He looked at her pointedly. "You would not be so cruel as to let him sit out and starve, would you, dear Mary?" He challenged.

"I would not!" Mary said indignantly, then screwed her eyes shut in frustrated realisation. "Then, my pity for him would force me to go to whatever social call she would have me go and attend to. What a dreadful cycle!" She remarked on her sudden epiphany with self-pity.

"Yes, so it is." Richard affirmed before suddenly standing up to attention. At that sudden action, Mary gave a curious glance at him but then heard what it was that alerted him so: a loud bell tolling, signifying the lateness of the hour. She glanced at Richard putting on his obligatory clothing fit for a Duke and glanced at her own attire. A little crumpled, but the cloak that Richard earlier gifted her would hide whatever mishap her clothing had to offer.

With great effort, Mary removed her legs from under her and made to stand up, but upon doing so, instantly swayed. In her light-headed state, she leaned against the armrests of the chaise she had minutes ago called a bed and concentrated on keeping upright as her numb legs threatened to let her fall upon the cedar wood floor. "Are you ready to adjourn to the Banquet Hall?" Richard's voice softly asked.

She could only nod softly as she took his proffered arm and walked towards the Hall, all the while feeling a terrible foreboding feeling.

* * *

"Ah, Mary!"

That deep voice of her mother over the jovial music and loud chatters of the courtiers had startled Mary as she entered the banquet hall with Richard escorting her. Both their heads turned to the sound of Lady Rivers' voice, with Richard's hand putting a little more pressure on the small of her back as he escorted Mary to her mother. Lady Rivers, despite the ecstatic mood of the banquet, had an expression of utter seriousness. Her lips were set in a puckered line and her eyes were sharp and focused. Her clothing was somber, a shadowy shade of blue swathed her tall figure. _Forever mourning her dead husband and son_ , Mary thought to herself then found herself saddening at the thought, knowing that they were _her_ father and brother. Clutched within her long fingers was a goblet of wine that looked barely drunk.

"Good day, lady mother." Mary greeted as she curtsied and Richard bowed in kind. Lady Rivers nodded slightly in acknowledgement to both of them and then turned her attentions back to Mary.

"It has been quite a while, Mary, since we have held a single conversation. One would think that you have been avoiding me all that time." Lady Rivers said pointedly before delicately sipping on her wine.

Mary cleared her throat before responding to her mother's shielded poke. "It has not been of my choosing, lady mother. I have quite busy as of late, as I am well aware you know."

In quick succession, Lady Rivers' eyes flew up to gaze upon a bored Richard, who looked round the displays of the hall discreetly to gain a modicum of entertainment. "Yes, quite sure that you are exceedingly engaged." Mary's eyes followed the line of her mother's sight, not quite understanding her meaning. When she had been met by the sight of her dear friend, it became clear what Lady Rivers' meaning was and it had not been polite in its intention.

"My lady mother, I believe we have now been able to hold a single conversation. Enjoy the banquet." Mary pronounced in a steely voice before she nudged Richard and moved towards the growing crowd of dancers.

She kept her hand at the crook of his elbow until they both reached an open space, where Mary asked him to dance with her. "Dance with me." She ordered him, her hair whipping round in her state of aggravation, almost causing Richard to be a victim of her anger.

Richard's lips quirked into that of a smile and in an exaggerated fashion, he swept into a deep bow. "My Lady, it would be my utmost pleasure to dance with you." He proclaimed in the most ridiculous fashion possible and offered his hand, causing a slight upturn on Mary's lips but she pushed it downwards as she roughly accepted his hand. He led her through the crowd and began to follow the steps of the courtiers already engaged in the current dance. "My dear Mary, will you not try to enjoy this set? Put more enthusiasm into it!" Richard said in good humour as he turned round to meet Mary with their hands slightly touching.

At Richard's blissful disposition, Mary rolled her eyes as she could not fully remove the feeling of indignation at her mother's suspicion of Richard and her's friendship. "I will try when my mother will not make such lewd accusations of you and I."

Both Richard and Mary turned their backs to each other in order to face their new partners. In this movement, Mary did not see the slight blush and smirk upon Richard's features. "And what is it that she is accusing us of doing?" He asked, curiously amused at what her Lady Mother had deduced of them.

"I think that she looks upon this friendship as unnatural; if I am not mistaken, she either suspects us of having carnal knowledge of each other or that you are a Sodomite, seeing as you are not courting any lady as of late or shown the slightest interest in one." Mary revealed to him in an outburst.

"Does not my showering you in attention prove my not being a Sodomite?" Richard teased lightly as they met back in the middle.

Mary scoffed. "So, you admit to showing an interest to me?" Mary asked disbelieving at his intent.

Richard could do nothing but stay quiet and force down the glowing heat of his cheeks. "Oh dear goodness! I was just teasing." Mary proclaimed, sensing his growing discomfort. "Richard, I will not question you nor your thoughts or feelings. I did not mean to pry."

He was quick to reply, once he realised Mary's thoughts. "No, no Mary! Please do not apologise." He assured her. "I do not wish to get married so quickly; I wish to take my time so as to understand my own self and my duties."

In response, Mary gave a hum of understanding and gave Richard a look of utter boredom, praying intently that this torture might be over already.

It had been great timing indeed that the dance had ended right then or Mary might've had to keep up the pretense of enjoying the set. When they had applauded the musicians for their music, the herald had declared that dinner was to be served. With that knowledge, Richard escorted Mary off of the dance floor and to an open seat.

"Mary!"

Both Mary and Richard's heads turned to the source of the sound from across the hall, where they had identified it as the towering presence that was Anthony. "Are we to dine with him, Mary?" Richard whispered his reluctance to do so discreetly as they walked over to Anthony's table.

Mary gave him a slight shove, an indication to Richard that they would.

With high spirits, Mary came running to Anthony with skirts flying behind her and her arms wide open. "Anthony!" Mary squealed, her rapturous cry disguised by the loud chatters of the courtiers. She jumped onto him and wrapped her arms round his neck tightly as he spun her around in joy. Their giggles were certainly sounds to affirm their love and happiness at seeing each other. "Anthony, it is absolutely marvellous to see you. I thought that you were to be back tomorrow from Italy?" She asked, a tinge of confusion marring her nevertheless joyous features.

"Yes, I was." Anthony affirmed as Richard approached the happy siblings. "But I was so eager to see you again, my dear, that I forced everyone to dredge on forwards." He proclaimed as he swooped her again into an embrace, earning high pitched chuckles.

Behind Mary, Richard approached unhurriedly. As Mary heard Richard's approaching steps with its slow gait, it quickly became clear to Mary in that moment that Richard was not eager to re-acquaint himself with her most beloved brother. Anthony caught sight of a reluctant Richard and waved him over. "I must say, Your Grace, I heartily thank you for taking good care of Mary in my absence." Anthony thanked him with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "I could not think of anyone better who I could have trusted to watch over my dearest sister."

Richard bowed in thanks for such a compliment. "There would have been no need to ask, if you even had." He demurred. "I do not think of Mary as a chore, as others might do."

To anyone else's eyes, Richard's gaze would have looked bored, even uninterested at the topic at hand but to Mary's eyes, Richard was analysing her enigma of a brother as well as his words. Mary sensed there was a growing tension between them, one that she had never noticed before but began to realise had always been there, however mild it had been in its intensity. "Let us proceed to a seat, shall we?- Anthony?- Richard?" Mary asked politely, but there was a steely tone of resolve running beneath her words.

Hums of approval at the suggestion were sounded as the trio made their way to a vacant place. As they did so, Anthony and Mary began to make conversation to make up for their lost time together due to his journey. Richard trailed behind, almost regally sulking in solitude until a familiar voice had broken his thoughts.

"Your Grace."

Richard's head snapped up to see who it had been who was calling his attention. The unwanted presence of the Lady Blanche is now to be the one to torture him in his time of desired solitude. _God is not smiling upon me today_ , Richard thought wryly, _I must not have prayed enough and thus he is punishing me_. His bored gaze was now lavished upon the illustrious lady who Richard has realised has constantly been pining for his attention. An insincere smile placed itself on his features before asking the lady in question: "My Lady, is there anything I can do for you?"

It seems that the lady could not decipher what an insincere smile had looked like because she went ahead with her question, or rather, request. "My Lord Richard, I have come to ask, since neither you or the Lady Mary have come to relieve my boredom before this luncheon, if the both of you would like to come and spend the banquet with me. I much desire yo- both your companies." Lady Blanche finished with a charming smile.

Richard sighed inwardly in irritation. "You really know no bounds, do you my lady?" He asked rhetorically, but knowing once again that she would infuriate him by answering a question that he did not want answering.

"Of course," She affirmed both his rhetorical question and his foreknowledge. "My father had always taught me to strive for what my heart greatly desires, if no is not what it desires."

"As much as I admire your father greatly, my lady, I must ask: what of your mind?" Richard asked curiously and looked upon her almost pitifully.

"My mind is the reason why I will get them, hence if my heart desires to win a war, my mind will concoct the plans needed to be able to achieve its much desired goal." She answered.

With that answer, Richard looked at her with a new light. She is of a bright mind, almost as stimulating a companion as his dearest Mary (though of course in his mind, no one could come close in replacing her) and a ruthless ambition to get what her heart (as she says) so greatly desires.

Without a word, Richard offered his arm to her and escorted her to where Mary and Anthony were situated and so heavily engrossed in their conversation and their secret chuckles with a newfound respect. It was almost as if she was beginning to tag herself as being amiable in his mind and could certainly pose a threat upon his sensibilities.

* * *

 **A/N** : I think Mary is getting some competition! I wonder how long will it take her to realise it...

I am really sorry for the long time it took to post this chapter. There was absolutely no internet and I was constantly moving around, so this chapter was practically the product of sitting down for three hours. As well as that, the Superman fanfictions are SO addicting that I can't even... I was even sucked into the Hobbit fandom and the Chronicles of Narnia for a bit that it took so long to work up the energy to abandon them long enough to write this.

Anyway, I hope that you guys enjoyed that but if you have some constructive feedback, please let me know.

Also, I've been giving it some serious thought and so, I am now officially looking for a beta for this fic. It gives me the creeps to have to read over my work and find that there are grammatical errors. So if you're interested in beta'ing my work, send me a pm! :)

Cheers, Nemo xoxo


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The day after the banquet, Mary found herself at the mouth of the stables well before dawn. It was still significantly dark outside and almost intolerably cold. All around her, Mary spied only dark outlines of an open grassland in front of the hazy sketch of a stable. It irked her considerably that she was somehow persuaded by Richard to cut short on her sleep and meet her new riding companion.

Mary paced uncontrollably, her leather riding boots crunching into the gravelly pathway. Her teeth were chattering from the chilly, morning wind and her leather-clad hands rubbed against each other in an effort to generate and preserve warmth. Wisps of her honeyed hair began to frame her agitated features, until at last they were relieved by faint sounds of hard snuffling and stones being pressed upon by boots or hooves (even both). She turned her head round to see who was coming but she didn't need to see who it was to recognise who was approaching.

"Mary!"

The merry cry of Richard came echoing throughout the dark air, somehow brightening their surroundings, almost as if he willed the dawn to hasten its journey. He walked ahead of the clearly fatigued stable boy, who held both White Surrey (who was Richard's horse) and an unfamiliar horse. Mary was helpless against his cheery disposition and smiled back in greeting. "Good morrow, Richard!" She said as she set her gloves straight and interlocked her fingers together to keep them from freezing.

He approached her with a spring in his step, the winds ruffling his already dishevelled locks and billowed his dark wine-tinted cloak. "How are you on this fine morn, dearest Mary?" He questioned, a bright glint in his dark gaze and a cheeky grin in place as Mary detected a hint of a tease in his fairly innocent question.

"Well, I am unbearably drowsy but that cannot be my fault as it was you who had managed to persuade me to come." She replied back, with no hint of malice in her voice despite her claims of sluggishness.

Her remark had done nothing except bring up a more good-natured smile and a shameless remark to be expelled from his lips. "Then I shall commend and reward myself later on accordingly." He pulled his riding gloves over his fingers, wriggling them to get the material to sit properly. "On another note," Richard walked backwards, towards the stable boy. "May I have the pleasure to introduce your new horse?" He held his arm open in presentation and his fingers ready to receive the reins of the horse in question.

The horse cantered forward and when they had, Mary was first mesmerised at the sheer gracefulness that the horse did it with. Its long limbs held her gaze captivated with its fluid movements. With Richard's horse having a beautiful coat of white velveteen, hers was woven from the darkest strands of night that it was like a shadow, easily moving.

 _A shadow…_ wolf-like cries began to ring through her ears as she was painfully reminded of past fears, those past nightmares that until today affected her greatly. Slowly, she heavily swallowed down her fears (not wanting to offend Richard in having worked so hard to obtain a clearly beautiful and well-bred gift) and carefully approached it. Slow, measured steps what she took as the whole of her body resisted moving towards it, rendering her almost immobile in the face of indecision. The hairs on the nape of her neck began to slowly rise, standing ramrod straight.

Her vision was beginning to blur between an unknown darkness and the steadily lightening surroundings. "Mary?"

She could hear the palpable tone of concern in his raspily dark voice. A warm hand came to rest upon her cloak-clad arm, fingers gently gripping her steadily. In haste, Mary blinked away the involuntary haze that formed in front of her eyes. She found striking eyes gazing worriedly upon hers.

"Do you not like the gift that I have commissioned for you?" Richard asked, his voice calm but when Mary's eyes snapped up to meet his, she could see a veil hiding his feeling of insecurity.

She took a shudderingly deep breath before replying. "I do like it." She answered, though not quite looking at the gift in question as it nickered quietly in the background. "But, I think it will take me some time to," she exhaled. "To come to an understanding about it."

Creases between his brows began to form and deepen as he uttered the one question she was hoping he would never ask. "What would you need to come to an understanding about, dearest Mary? It is just a horse!" He laughed, a resoundingly musical laugh erupted from his lips.

"It isn't that." She whispered, her eyes widening to let him see what she was truly talking about. Without her knowing, her lips inched closer to his ear whilst he instinctively moved closer to her. "It's what it reminds me of. Do you remember?" Mary said silently, but her heart was beating exceedingly fast in nervousness and fear and it was threatening to jump out and run as far away from it as possible. She worked hard to avert her eyes from seeing her worst nightmares materialise before her eyes.

It was fortunate that Richard began to slowly come to the realisation, even if he was confused at the notion of her still thinking about it. "Mary, why does this-" He fumbled with his words as he struggled to find the right one to properly described what it was. "This vision still haunt you until now? Why have you not sought peace with it?"

She turned her back fully to the horse, unable to stand its presence, despite it being innocent of any crime except its colour. Her expression was blank, but her conscience was adamant that she not face it for the time being. Moments of stillness and whistling wind came to pass before moves were made. A soft hand came into contact with her cloak-clad back and Mary felt Richard's warm whisper against her cold ear: "You do not have to ride her if you do not wish to, Mary." He said it in the gentlest tone possible that it made her heart ache at the thought of not riding his gift. With care, Mary felt his fingers under her chin to push her face to face him.

Her eyes searched his dark ones for any emotion that indicated disappointment or even resentment, but there was nothing of the kind there. All she saw was those sentiments akin to affection and complete understanding. "If it will please you, we can still go riding. You can ride White Surrey while I ride your horse. Is that more to your liking?"

Mary studied his facial expression once more before making her decision, anxious to bring a smile to his face. She replied with,"I would like that very much." and was thus rewarded with a smile so incandescently pleasant that it put the sun to shame.

* * *

To be out riding with Richard before winter properly sets her cold clutch upon the world was certainly a liberating feeling for Mary. It was almost as if she had never been free in the entirety of her four-and-ten years. With the frigid winds cutting her cheeks and her hair begging to be released from their tightly-bound plaits, she felt unrestrained and youthful; for a few short hours, she felt like she was no longer the girl so terribly cursed with having to look at perplexing visions that she became afraid of her own shadow.

She felt alive.

The gallops of their horses on twigs and the harmony of their unfettered laughter pierced the crisp winter atmosphere, bringing life to the forests they rode to and colour to open landscapes they travailed.

But it could not last. No moment this beautiful, so alarmingly perfect could truly last.

They'd come to a halt beside a charming little stream, with large trees carelessly shedding their leaves for the year, leaving them to fall unprotected unto the ground. Mary gently tugged and led White Surrey to the edge of the freely cascading threads of water as the horse bent down and languidly gulped down streams of water. She felt perfectly content to just stay there and lead an idyllic, simple life as she admired her natural surroundings. As the horse continued to mindlessly drink from the stream, Mary took the opportunity to stroke his mane. In her reverie, she did not notice Richard's approach from behind her.

"Was the outing enjoyable?" Richard asked, though if her peals of laughter were any indication, a negative response was not one he was expecting.

Mary's hand stopped mid-stroke and turned her head to face Richard. "Of course! It was an exhilarating experience and one that I have thoroughly enjoyed." She gushed, a smile imprinting itself upon her rosy features. "We should do it again, mayhap before the snow properly frosts over."

"Duly noted." He replied as he led Mary's horse over to the stream as well, with Mary's eyes averting from it. Richard sighed as he saw her unencouraging reaction.

A comfortable silence began to set over them before a thought alarmed Mary. "Do you not have negotiations to deal with?" Mary asked, worried that she might have distracted Richard far too much that it took him away from his work.

He shook his head, his curls bouncing along with the response. "No, I have already accomplished my work yesternight." He replied before his head suddenly shot up and a smirk adorned his flushed pale features. "Why?- Are you afraid for my head? Because if you are, then I would like to inform you that you should not be so afraid for my neck as it would take heaven and hell to sever it from my body and even then, only the sharpest knives can slice it cleanly off." He snickered a little at his rather morbid description.

At his antics, Mary chuckled a little before becoming thoughtful. "You know Richard, I have come to wonder about what kind of life I would lead had I not been born to privilege or politics." She uttered with a hint of nonchalance, her brow smooth.

It certainly surprised Richard at the sudden thought and began to recognise the gravity of the situation, despite the simple comment. "And what had lead you to think down that path, dearest Mary?"

"I had been thinking of what Joan," She choked a little on the name, "My former lady's maid had told me and I had begun to wonder to myself, what kind of woman had I become had I not been of noble birth? Would I have been more accomplished? More hard-working? Beautiful?" She whispered the last question to herself, embarrassed that Richard might laugh that a notion like that would cross her mind. It didn't matter, he heard it all the same hence the quirk of his brow but he uttered no words against it. There were other pressing matters at hand and besides, he knew Mary was not comfortable mentioning or discussing such frivolity.

He let go of Mary's horse's reins and stepped closer towards the woman in question. "And what was it that Joan had told you?" His tone was bordering on curiousity and distress. "Was it something bad?"

She nibbled on her lip in thought and shook her head in response to his question. "No, I do not think so." She replied. "Though it will depend on your perspective on the situation."

"That she had tried to kill you?" His brow was raised once more and whilst his tone was calmer, Mary could feel his anger at the thought of her death exuding from every pore of his being. "Forgive me Mary, but I cannot see another perspective on this situation. You will have to enlighten me."

Her lips pursed together in thought as she formulated an answer while simultaneously rubbing warmth into her hands. Richard spied her movements and took her thickly gloved hands into his own. "Allow me."

As he began to encase and rub her hands with his own, Mary took a shudderingly deep breath before continuing. "I must confess that what she had confided to me had vexed me greatly. It was the utter anonymity that certainly frightened me out of my wits." She could hear the biggest question from him, despite his lack of noise: _What is it that she had said that scares you so much?_ "She had been coerced, to work as an assassinator for an unnamed benefactor. Even as I departed, as she whispered the information to me, she would not give anything away. I am so very afraid that another attempt will be made on my life and I am not even a monarch!" She laughed, almost self deprecatingly, before descending into a whirlwind of hysterical emotions.

She did not need to ask for it, but his comforting arms wrapped itself around her slight shoulders as she began to cry. "I am no one of true importance but why is it that I am the one to be targetted? To be the one with a mark to signal that I am to be hit?" Her gloved fingers dug into his thick tunic, her tears staining the rich material.

In an act of comfort, Richard tried to quiet her down, caressing her tightly coiled hair and pressing light kisses to her forehead. "It's because you are seen by many to be an important figure. You are connected to many of the most powerful families in England and are thus seen as someone who they can use to bargain with." He let the information settle down properly before hitting her with news.

He took a shallow breath before he began to tell her: "You may not like what I am about to say, but you have to hear this from me. It will not sound any less devastating if anyone else tells you." He sighed, the deep tone of it running through his body. "You must have heard the rumours, but I will not be surprised if you hadn't as you are not one to listen to mindless chatter. Your former lady's maid has been executed, without a trial and with the heaviest charges that no one could possibly drop them on the account that they were mistakes. It was as if someone had wanted her dead. Maybe it was what she had relayed to you that had secured her fate?"

Mary's heart skipped beats and she felt her skin pale. Her throat parched at the thought of a dead person on her account and she felt disbelieving at such news. "What do you mean? Surely the King could have forgiven her her crimes on the account that she wasn't the only conspirator? What do you mean she wasn't put on trial?"

Richard dreaded her questions and knew now why he had kept such information from her: she asks too much, so much so that one feels like they've been hit by a runaway carriage.

"It is as I have told, that she was executed without a trial. No further questions were to be asked and no one would dare say it to the King's face that he could have made an erroneous move lest they risk their own head and find themselves without one."

It did not affect Mary as much that it moved her to shed so much tears for her former maid, but it did cause a deep ache in the cavity of her chest that it felt as if she was paralysed by the whole situation. And when the news itself began to set in, it had been a terrible onslaught of emotions that even Richard himself could not fathom what to do in the wake of such hysterics except hold her close and assure her of his presence and endless support.

It took a few minutes before her hysterics could properly simmer down. "Jo-Joan had relayed to me that despite her employer's anonymity, she was able to give away a damning pi-piece of evidence: that the person who had tasked them with murdering me had been 'a lady of the river'." She lifted her head from where it had been resting against Richard's chest, looking for answers in the scrutiny of his gaze. "What do you think she could have meant?"

"Such is the nature of coded language, that one cannot solve the puzzle without the key to unlock its mysteries and secrets." He answered vaguely, not really knowing the answer himself.

But Mary persevered. "But she said it to me with such conviction, as if she expected me to know and understand what it was she was referring to." She was truly puzzled by the whole debacle that it made her mind spin. "She couldn't have meant the faeries, could she? That would be a truly ludicrous thing to do, especially since she could have died imparting it so."

Despite the humour that Mary tried to suffuse into the thick atmosphere, Richard could not bring himself to be lured out by it as his thoughts seem to have been put into a watermill, with a strong current constantly pushing it to go round. "A lady of the river? What a peculiar thing to say!" He said thoughtfully. "Do you not think she meant that in its most literal sense?"

Mary laughed a little at the absurdity of his words. "That she could be talking of the Lady of the Lake? I do not think so, dearest Richard. Joan may have been clever, but she certainly couldn't read."

"No, I meant that she could have been referring to a title. Is not your brother the Earl of Rivers?" Richard queried.

Mary suddenly jerked up at the sound of her brother's title. "Are you implying that my brother could be the dispatcher of my would-be assassinator?" She asked, outraged by such a notion. Her brother wanting her dead?

At her reaction, Richard vigorously shook his head, his short curls springing to life. "No, because then I would offend your brother's manhood by implying that he was a woman." Richard's pointed gaze scrutinised her figure, watching for any sign that she might be further offended on her brother's behalf. As she slowly backed down, he continued his train of thought. "What I was trying to convey was that it may have been one of your family that had bribed your maid, most likely to be one of your sisters, cousins or nieces."

Despite Richard elaborating more upon his point, Mary could sense that he had more to say upon the topic than he was letting himself do. "Richard, I know that you must know something else." She directed her sharp, green gaze to meet his dark eyes, making him see that she was in earnest about such business. "What is it that you are keeping from me?"

"A great many things." He replied calmly. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickling in annoyance at his lack of compliance. What is it that he wishes not to tell her?

"I am being perfectly serious, Richard."

"And so am I."

She gritted her teeth in displeasure. "On this topic then? What is so bad that you cannot tell me your knowledge or your suspicions on the matter?"

He sighed. "Because my suspicions are unfounded and you might take offence at what it is that I might say."

"Anything you say will be met with open ears and a closed mouth."

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as if preparing to relieve himself of the burden that he was about to unload, and shudderingly exhaled. "I have been thinking about this issue for a long while now and I have reason to believe that it may be-" He looked round, an indescribable emotion glistening in his dark eyes. Fear? "-That it may be your sister, the Queen, who may have been responsible for the orchestration of your possible death."

Mary was… she could not find a word in the entirety of her vocabulary to properly describe what emotion it is that she was feeling. "What? Have I heard you correctly? Or have my ears deceived me?" She could not truly voice the shock that was running through her and paralysing every fibre of her being. Her rosy features, earlier flushed from the ride, was quickly drained of the beautiful colour that hung on her cheeks. "You cannot be sincere in your claim that my own sister would want me dead! Why would she want me to be so?" Her tone was whispered in burning anguish, as if the pain was burning her from the inside.

"I suppose it is because of the wandering eye of her husband and he seems to have his gaze firmly set upon you. It is thus clear that she would not be pleased with such a development, especially since she has not borne a son yet." Richard's look at her was pointed, as if willing her to understand his meaning (which she had).

"And are you suggesting he is thinking of putting her aside to get to me?" Mary was exceedingly repulsed at the thought that he would even _consider_ marrying her, his sister in law! Why, he was about twice her age! "Richard, that is such a terrible thought to have! That's practically incest!" She hissed at him, her skin forming goosebumps at the repulsive thought.

Richard was becoming irritable at the topic of the conversation. "Of course I know that! Why do you think I am telling you this?"

"To mock me!" She fired back, her response dripping in sarcasm.

Indeed, Richard did not think that Mary meant what she had said, that it was only the shock of the news she had received that had caused her to be irrational and to possess a hasty temper. It never truly occurred to him that she could feel the a sentiment akin to insecurity or even feel doubtful of her own person. But that was the moment in which Mary felt a slight doubt of her position within her family and it did not help that Richard made her feel worse with the utterance of a single sentence.

He let out a suppressed breath. "Your sister then holds very little affection for you, I have barely seen her made the said emotion known to you."

Mary laughed darkly. "A sad truth, indeed."

"I apologise greatly for being short-tempered, especially since you were quite possibly still reeling from the shock of the news." Richard apologised quietly to her, almost tenderly to make up for his abrasive behaviour earlier. "I was getting carried away."

Mary took his gloved hand in hers and squeezed it softly. "I know."

A few moments of comfortable silence settled between them as Mary lazily admired the onset of winter through half-lidded eyes. "Whilst I am relaying to you all the information I haven't informed you of, I must confess then that I had not been wholly open in all the news that I have told you." Richard said, twisting the signet ring on his thumb, which lay rigid underneath his thick gloves.

"What do you mean? What dark secrets have you not confided to me yet?" She asked curiously.

"The Earl of Warwick and his family, along with George, are to stay at court for the Yuletide celebrations." Richard uttered carefully to her, clearly enunciating each word. In her silence, Richard studied her paling features for a reaction but all he could see was plain surprise (and was that a hint of sadness lurking in the corner of her eyes?).

"Well," She gulped, her eyes widening at the sinking thought. "Does El-Elizabeth know?"

At that, he barked out a laugh of pure relief and amusement at her response. "Dearest, I tell you that Warwick is coming and you ask if your sister knows?" He chuckles a little. "If I must answer, then considering her position, I am perfectly sure that she knows all of the details surrounding their arrival."

A bird squawked in the far distance, causing Mary to jump in surprise and Richard to look up warily, his expression now guarded. They began to notice their environment (having been engrossed in their conversation), and they then realised that they were long overdue to arrive back at the palace in time for supper. The sky was a smoky gray, with beams of orange and red rebelliously cutting through.

Richard was swift to act in gaining Mary's attention. "Come along, Mary." He muttered, his hands gripping her corseted waist intensely. "We will be missed if we do not leave this instance."

Despite the great strength with which he gripped her waist, Mary was astounded at the gentle way at which he carried her unto her horse. It was as if she was a porcelain doll, one that he was afraid he would drop or one that would break easily under his touch. As she settled into her side saddle, Richard hauled himself unto his horse (Mary could not still bring herself to look upon it without having a wakeful nightmare). She turned to him with a shameless smirk playing upon her lips.

"Richard?" She called innocently.

He hummed in response as he checked that his saddle was in place and buckled.

"Why don't we race to the palace if you are so eager to make haste there?" She asked coyly. "Then I can show that I am the superior rider."

She brazenly winked at him before running off, leaving Richard behind, speechless and utterly flabbergasted. As Mary sped off in the direction of the palace, she could hear Richard's resounding reply:

"Cheeky wench!"

* * *

As it turns out, Mary did make it back first to the palace with Richard dangerously hot on her heels. "It was not a very fair race, was it dearest?" He asked mockingly.

"No, it wasn't. But then you wouldn't be much of a gentleman if you complained about losing to a lady now, would you?" And that response effectively silenced him as they led their horses towards the stables.

Hit with the stench of horses, Mary was desperate for a respite (preferably one spent in a scorching hot tub of water, smelling of freshly picked roses and lavender). It seemed as if Richard could read her mind, as he began to make his excuses to leave her company. "I shall go and clean myself up before the banquet tonight. You should do so as well, by the look of your grimace." He needled, before chuckling to himself. "Shall I escort you to your chambers?"

Mary shook her head softly. "There is no need for you to exert anymore effort, seeing as you already rode hard to catch up with me. But it seemed your efforts were in vain." She smirked before turning her back to him and leaving.

As she made her way down long, winding halls, Mary hummed hymns to herself in entertainment as she spied servants putting up lavish Yuletide decorations and sneakily putting in some mistletoe where no one can see them lest they were under it. At the sight of them doing so, Mary felt an involuntary smile to be coaxed from her lips.

When she was approaching her last turn before entering her corridor, Mary's eye was caught by the sight of gleaming superlunary robes trailing down that corridor, disappearing behind a corner. At the sight of it, she felt her eyes widen and her heart began to palpitate strangely. Her steps quickened, fueled by curiousity and disbelief. She recognised them; their delicate, diaphanous movement forever ingrained in her memory. "Wait!" She called to the ethereal maiden before she could think about it, picking her kirtle up and running to catch up with her. But when Mary had turned the corner, the maiden in question was nowhere to be seen. She looked around her, thinking she might have just missed her but there was no other way to leave that corridor other than past her. The corridor seemed to get darker, with the sun sinking into oblivion.

She swiped her gloved hands across her eyes, thinking she was hallucinating because of sheer exhaustion. In her frustration, she huffed as she tore the leather gloves off of her hands and gripped them with such intensity that she swore she marked the leather. Putting her naked hand against the cold knob of her door, she sighed as she pushed down and the oaken door squeaked open, the high pitched sound lingering in the air as the door opened to reveal her fireplace lit and emitting desperately craved warmth and her bed unmade.

At the sight of her unmade bed, Mary's eyebrows creased together in confusion. Did she not ring for a maid to have her room seen to? The light of the fire seemed to dim and Mary approached the fire to put in new logs to keep the fire going, carelessly dropping her gloves on the floor in the process. She bent down and gripped the base of one of the logs when she felt strong, foreign arms pulling her against a hard body, causing a frightened scream to be ripped from her quivering lips.

"Please, my lady. Do not be affrighted by my presence, it is just me."

Her eyes widened as she begun to recognise the slurred voice, their arms gripping tighter around her waist. She felt the whole of her skin crawl at the mere brush of his limbs against her. Her heart was palpitating dangerously, her breath became shallow in panic and her eyes widened in realisation.

It was the King.

His breath was hot and rancid against the nape of her neck, from which her hair swept up for her ride. His lips grazed and caressed where his breath hit her skin. His hands dug painfully into her sides, as if they craved to imprint themselves upon her skin. She felt frozen, unsure and frightened out of her wits that she could not even begin to think what to do. She struggled against his hold uselessly, wishing to be free of his arms and be cleansed of his touch.

"Mary, please do not struggle against me. I only wish to know you more intimately."

It was then that Mary was able to find the strength to break away from the prison that was his arms and griped the log tighter, using it to hit his hands as they made a move to clutch her once again. "Mary, come back!" He drunkenly growled at her as she ran out of her chambers, feeling like someone was suffocating her from the inside. Her throat was closing up and her vision became bleary, her legs becoming numb.

"Mary!"

He kept calling after her, but Mary did not stop and instead sprinted faster to the one place that she can think of at that moment. She did not realise that she appeared so distressed as she ran past Thomas Harcourt. Her mind's thoughts were so terribly scrambled that she did not register she ran into someone. "Slow down, my lady!" The voice of Thomas Harcourt boomed laughingly. "There is no one chasing you!" Being a good friend of Richard as well as a former suitor of hers, Thomas was well acquainted with her. Just not in this state.

As he looked at her with better clarity, he asked her, "Are you well, my lady?"

As his hands gripped her forearms, Mary pushed away forcefully, not considering how this would look to him. "I-I would like to go and speak to my brother."

But Thomas would not have it; clearly, the damsel was in great distress! "My lady, please listen to me! You are not well!"

"I am quite alright, my lord Thomas! Now, if you do not mind, I am in terrible need of conversing with my brother." She snapped, her skin crawling at the ghost of his hands on her arms.

"If it so pleases you, my lady. I have seen him pass through here not ten minutes ago." He said, worried at her look. She had an air of fear, as if something had shaken her so profoundly that she could not compose herself. "Are you certain that you are well, my lady? You look-"

"I am quite alright!" She repeated curtly, her eyes scanning the distance and her body a distance away from his that it was almost as if she wasn't talking to him or him to her.

As she curtsied and left his presence, he followed her retreating figure and in doing so, spied the curious glance of the Lady Blanche on her. In seeing her, he felt his cheeks heat up and he knew he could not continue to watch her without making a fool of himself. In all hopes of avoiding her, he turned his back to the lady in question and walked off to carry out an errand that he had been thwarted from earlier by the Lady Mary.

* * *

Mary could not care about the stares that followed her as she ran to find solace in her brother. Courtiers' whispers followed her down the never-ending corridors and she quickened her pace to get to him quicker. Her heart throbbed irregularly and it felt as if she was no longer breathing, her lungs aflame.

It was a blessing then when she had not paid attention to her surroundings, her vision blurring and bleeding together like a dark watercolour painting. Her chest was heaving dangerously fast and her limbs were throbbing with heat and clouds, as if they wanted to separate from her body and float. She almost fainted and hit her head on the cold, stone-cobbled floor when she had run into her brother's back.

"Mary!"

It was only with his reflex that she was saved from a more painful fate. But as soon as she felt his hands upon her waist and arms, she did not express her gratitude and instead began shrieking in the most distressed and hysterical manner.

Her whole body began convulsing as fear began palpitating through her and sobs now broke free from within her. Anthony's eyes widened in the most dramatic fashion and felt aggrieved when his own sister tried to push him away from her and the most violent manner that she could muster. His hands tried to grab her to lead her to his chambers, to make her stop this overwrought display. "Mary! Please calm down, it's just me." He spoke soothingly to her, as he tried to recollect his wits in the presence of his clearly distraught sister.

She shrunk away from his touch and instead made her own way to his chambers, letting herself in without his permission (not that she really needed it, she had his wholehearted trust). He noticed how her eyes looked like she was backed into a corner and she couldn't get out and how her shoulders slumped inwards, as if she was trying to keep to herself. Her expression was one of petrification and her hair was in terrible disarray.

What had happened to his sister?

As he entered his well-lit chambers, he found her sitting on the velvet cushioned bench he had positioned at the end of his neatly made up four poster bed, completely folded within herself and weeping an alarming amount of tears and with such intensity that it moved the whole of her body.

He attempted to approach her, but she would not let him near her.

"Don't come near me! I warn you brother, please!- Do not come any closer." She said almost growled, but the strong facade that came only moments ago immediately crumbled at the sight of his confused and clearly worried appearance.

He stopped and stood a fair distance away from her, at a complete loss at how to help her. "What happened to you, my love?" He asked gently.

She took a shuddering breath and looked up to him. He saw the swollen, red-rimmed lids that framed her frightened green eyes and the flushed cheeks of her usually pale features. "I ca-came from an outing w-with Richard-"

"Was Richard the one who brought you into this state of distress?" Anthony looked irascible, but Mary noted that there seemed to be a jouissant gleam in his eye despite his rising temper. "Where is he?"

"Will you let me finish, brother?" Mary snapped impatiently at him, unusual for her as she is not usually in the temperament to snap and neither does she do so at her brother. "Richard did not cause the unfortunate distress that I am endowed with at this moment."

"Then who was responsible for this?" His jaw and his hands were clenched tightly, his eyes slits of anger.

"I had come back to my chambers after my outing with Richard and I noticed that my bed was unmade, rumpled in fact. Its bedsheets and furs were in a state of terrible disarray and I pondered to myself whether a maid had come to tidy my room up because I clearly remember having asked a chambermaid to clean my chambers in my absence.

"I noticed that my fireplace had not been attended to for at least a couple of hours and I approached the fireplace to add in some logs to keep it burning, when the King had made his presence known."

Anthony's brows creased together in simultaneous wonder and displeasure at the abominable situation that she was painting for him. "How had he made his presence known?" She remained quiet, suddenly reluctant to tell him at all. It was with her silence that he understood; he may not know all the details, but it was clear that the King had handled his sister in a most inappropriate way.

"Where is he?" Anthony snarled, furious at the thought that someone had destroyed her innocence.

"There is no point in being angry about it, Anthony. You can be killed if you commit a crime against the King then nothing would have been gained. It would have been a fruitless revenge." Mary rationalised with him.

"Then what would you have me do?" He pleadingly asked her, desperate to get relief for her. "This cannot happen again."

Mary sighed, persevering to keep the quivering out of her voice. "It can and it will, if we know the King at all."

Anthony approached her carefully, kneeling down by her side (even as she flinched at his close proximity to her) and gingerly crept his fingers into her hands, holding them as if it was their lifeline. "Then, you will not have to be alone should it happen again." He vowed fervidly to her, his eyes slowly rising to meet hers. "Amor vincit omnia."

A loud knock then came at the door.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well...I'm back! I'm very sorry for the delay, but as I told one of the reviewers before, I am back into school. So, it's kind of difficult to juggle A-levels, MUN leadership as well as my story writing. Don't get me wrong though, I certainly enjoy writing! I'm really excited to finish this...book? Fanfiction? I'm thinking of breaking it into three because it was always how I visualised it in my mind. With that in mind, this story is most likely going to end in a couple more chapters.

On another note, seeing as how Richard III is in this story, did anyone sign the petition to save Bosworth Field? Because now, we need your help more than ever as a multi-million dollar Japanese company wants to build a test track on top of it. The cheek! If you can, please help to support the Richard III society in anyway you can.

I'm still looking for a beta to help me edit my fic, so if you are interested, please send me a PM. :) If you guys have any improvements for me or just any thoughts on how you think the next chapter is going to unfold, please leave a review! Reviews are life!

Cheers, Nemo xoxo


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 _Previously:_

 _Anthony approached her carefully, kneeling down by her side (even as she flinched at his close proximity to her) and gingerly crept his fingers into her hands, holding them as if it was their lifeline. "Then, you will not have to be alone should it happen again." He vowed fervidly to her, his eyes slowly rising to meet hers. "Amor vincit Omnia."_

 _A loud knock then came at the door._

The thundering sound of the knock vociferated throughout Anthony's bedchamber, startling them both out of the bubble they had unknowingly created around themselves. Mary gnawed at her lip in anxiety as she slunk away from the soft security of his grip. A few moments passed before Anthony came to the realisation that it was he that was meant to open and receive the visitor (whoever they may be) and send them back on their way.

With little effort displayed, Anthony swung the heavy oak door open to reveal a flustered messenger whose hand was positioned as if to take another knock, his tightly clenched fist mottled red and purple with effort. At the unimpressive sight, Anthony's brow arched quizzically and his mouth straightened into a tight line. His body changed its stance into one that portrayed business, arms crossed across his broad chest and his body positioned to cover the messenger's line of sight to his sister.

"M-my Lord Rivers, you are hereb-by summoned to His Majesty, the King's chambers t-to discuss a m-matter of gr-great imp-portance." The messenger stuttered, clearly intimidated by the sight of Anthony. "The D-dowager C-count-tess Riv-vers and our sister, t-the L-lady Mary Woodv-ville, will al-lso be in att-ttendance."

Anthony sighed deeply. "There is no need to inform my sister of this matter." He informed the messenger in a clipped tone.

If it was possible, the messenger's expression progressed to a more unbecoming shade of red and his eyes widened. "B-but my L-lord!-" It was clear that he was distressed at the thought of not completing a duty left to his charge.

"My sister is in my company, we will be with His Majesty," He spat the word out, "Momentarily."

Anthony continued to talk to him but the messenger was no longer listening. Whilst Anthony kept talking, the messenger peeked round Anthony's broad frame as if to get a glimpse of the immense chamber that he was bestowed, only to find a golden-haired maiden sitting upon a gleaming cherry wood bench; her hair, fashioned in what seemed to have been previously a neat updo, was dishevelled, chunks of curls haphazardly cascaded across her pale face. Her features were fair, only marred at the moment by the state of piercingly dull virescent eyes and the dry tear tracks that marbled her cheeks. Her swarthy garments worn and stained with mud on the hems, contrasting strongly with her pale complexion. Rosebud petals that resembled lips were swollen and left open a little, as if to catch her breath.

The messenger's eyes widened as he began to realise who the comely lady was: it was Lord Rivers' sister! He began to wonder what it was that had occurred that caused the lady in question to be so agitated.

 _Rosebud petals that resembled lips were swollen… as if to catch her breath…_

In a more comical fashion, the messenger's jaw went slack. Could it be that Lord Rivers and his sister were committing one of the worst sins ever known to man? He gulped at the horrendous thought. They could not be!

He turned to look back at the man himself. Though his face was turning a pale pink in his impassioned anger, there was no trace to suggest that he had engaged in something less than polite with his sister. His attire was in pristine condition (despite it obviously being slightly worn) and his hair was coiffed to perfection. No, there is nothing that seemed to be out of place.

"Is that clear?"

The bark of a rhetorical question startled the messenger out of his heavy musings and prompted him to respond with a squeaky, "Yes, my lord." and he scampered down the hallway, to find some other duties that need attending to and to rid his mind of the terrible thoughts that he had conjured up of an obviously innocent pair.

The thick oaken entrance has closed with a little effort as Anthony closed it behind him before minding his sister. "Mary?" He called to her quietly, approaching her with leaden steps that she might not be frightened by him. Her red-rung eyes slowly drifted their gaze to focus vaguely upon her brother's figure, her fingers tightly knitting into themselves in anxiety. "Would you like to make use of my chamber to compose yourself? You may want to use my washstand to lave your face and hands."

Her eyes drifted towards the floor in clear disinterest. "If it will please you, I can leave the chamber and you can also make use of one of my cloaks- I had not used any of them yet. They had been laundered but have not been presented the opportunity to be used. It will certainly help to make you presentable when the Queen will receive you." _And the King_ were the words that hung painfully in the air between them.

"You do not want to give her a reason to further antagonise you, now that it has become common knowledge that her husband greatly desires you."

That was the deciding factor for Mary in Anthony's mind as he watched her delicately place her boot-clad feet upon the marble floor and effortlessly haul herself to his washstand that sat in the far corner of his chamber, sliding her riding cloak off of her shoulders, baring a smooth expanse of alabaster skin that made modest her appearance with its high neckline trimmed with grey squirrel fur. Without a response from Mary, Anthony sat down upon the now vacated bench as he waited upon his sister. She then proceeded to pour herself a generous amount of water from the porcelain jug that stood erect upon his stand, each drop conglomerating at the base.

With great difficulty, Mary removed the ribbons that encased hair and the pins that held her pliant hair in place. It was when Anthony began to witness Mary's wordless struggle that he walked towards her with a brisk pace and thrust his hands in her hair to help her. "Let me help you."

It was with his sudden movements that she involuntarily flinched away from him, causing him to feel the whip of her fine stray hairs and his heart drop down to his stomach. She could not meet his eyes, keeping her gaze stalwartly downwards as if rapturously studying the marble floor. His hands were left floating mid-air as she played with the loosened ends of her curls. "Brother, I think it best that I remain alone whilst I compose myself, if you do not mind." She said in a low, diplomatic voice she felt might soothe Anthony, despite the unintentional slight she had given him which remains evident in her speech. "I do not think it," She hesitated, looking for the right word, "Appropriate at the moment that you are in my presence as I cleanse myself. Think of the rumours that could spread, it could ruin both our marriage prospects."

A bitter bark of a laugh escaped Anthony's tightly pursed lips. "Since when did you care about rumours roaming rampant amongst the court? Mary, I've never known you to care about your reputation and how it will appear to courtiers." He sighed deeply and closed his eyes as he tried to release the fuming emotions that threatened to get the better of him and further affright her. He looked into her eyes, attempting to let her understand his situation. "My dearest Mary, I am nearing my thirties. I need no longer care of what my reputation will entail. It is my title and my riches that will speak on my behalf on the marriage market."

"And what of me?" She felt the vehement nature of her anger burst through her like a river torrent breaking through a dam despite her endeavour to keep her composure. She turned to him, an incensed tidal wave threatening to wash over him. Green eyes were aflame now with no substance that could quench its thirsty temper now, not even the cool blue depths always found in their presence. "You would not mind if my reputation has been tarnished?" It was uncalled for, that she could accuse her brother outright that he did not even remotely care about her.

"No, that is not what I meant and you know it!" His teeth were gritting abrasively against each other, the friction as frustrating as the conversation he strove to keep calm. "You could have told me instead that you did not want my company and that you would rather be riding along with Richard than spend another moment in mine!"

He did not mean it, truly he did not.

He could not. Not to her.

But his insecurities seemed to be greater than his patience to-day, threatening the destruction of his greatest and most prized possession.

Her eyes widened at the gratuitous accusation, her lips agape, its petals on the verge of falling at wound her brother had inflicted at her roots. He tried to erase what he had previously uttered in his anger, endeavoured to undo what he had done but to no avail.

The irreparable damage was done.

"No, Mary. That was not what I meant. I-" Her hand halted his speech with a forceful hit across his face, her loosened curls whipped dangerously across her own face. His expression resembled that of pure, unadulterated shock, only now it was tainted with a profound sense of affliction that seemed to diffuse deeper into his spirit.

Across his cheek, a dulled scarlet handprint was embossed against his pale complexion. Unbelieving at what she had done, Anthony brought his hand slowly up to his face, calloused fingers slowly grazing the surface of the strike. Her eyes stared at his resolutely, her delicate jaw locked in furious displeasure. "I do not know what else you could mean, brother." She spat the name, as if she could not stand its taste. "I do not know what it is that I have done to offend you, but rest assured as your sister, I do not think that I am entitled to that sort of insult, especially from you!"

He found himself unable to speak nor breathe, he could hardly even move. Anthony felt as if she was Medusa, turning people to stone as soon as she looks at them with her piercingly viriscent eyes.

A few more moments of silence overcame them as Mary breathed heavily in her anger. "Do you have nothing to say now to me?" She taunted, viridescent eyes becoming colder by the moment, removing all traces of the heat that burned through them but a few minutes earlier. "Then, I suggest that you leave me for a few moments that I might freshen up before you otherwise ruin my reputation." She uttered to him with a strong tone of finality, pushing him out of his own chambers without so much as even touching him.

Confounded, he concluded that she must have bewitched him. His legs moved with a mind of their own; he had not even given them the order to so much as scuffle.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he heard the heaving squeaks of his chamber door being opened and out strolled Mary, appearing much more put together than he had seen her all day. Her hair was now in loose aureate ringlets, with simple plaits pulling them away from her freshly washed visage. Her neck and hands, despite having been rosy from scrubbing, were devoid of their usual healthy flush. And when Anthony looked up to properly gaze upon her face, he was dismayed to see what was there. A coldness had settled there, an expression lacking both warmth and sentiment, and there were no crinkling laugh lines framing her exquisite eyes. To be found there instead was a smoothness that brought painful thoughts to his mind.

He offered his arm to her, but she refused it without even a word or a look to him. Instead, she walked right past him as if he was never there, with her kirtle flying behind her in dark tendrils. Utterly and despairingly captivated, he followed her to a destination he was unwilling to face, if not for her.

"Ah Mary! Anthony!"

The room was balmy, the scent of burning beech was overwhelmingly strong that Mary felt as if she was going to faint at the intensity of the smell. It was languidly dark, except for candles that was littered round the corners of the room and a dying fire in the fireplace.

"Have a seat at the table, Mary."

She was shocked out of her thoughts by her lady mother, surprised that Anthony was already seated at the sizeable oak table situated in the centre of the room. Her lady mother was seated in front of him and the Queen was standing, gliding across the foyer with a half drunk goblet of wine clutched between her fingers. Anthony sighed deeply as he moved to sit more comfortably in his seat before proceeding to ask the pressing question: "What is it that we have been summoned here for?" He looked round and hesitatingly asked the next one. "Where is His Majesty?"

Mary felt the whole of her body stiffen but she kept her expression reserved and detached from her surroundings, knowing she would be subjected to her sister and her lady mother's scrutiny.

"Edward has retired for the day, he seems to have taken ill from the unusually cold weather today." Elizabeth's voice held a pleasant lilt, but her tone left no room for any questions or objections. "The court physician has already seen to him and could only recommend bed rest." She walked closer to the table at which they were all seated, examining the contents of her wine goblet. Mary felt her heart pounding louder and more aggressively against her chest as her sister inched closer to her.

Despite keeping an impassive face, Mary swore she could feel her complexion paling considerably. She could feel her brother next to her reaching out for her hand underneath the table, but she pulled it away, not desiring any form of physical contact at that moment, especially not from him.

"Why, Mary!"

The sudden exclamation had startled Mary immensely, but she strove to keep the surprise under tightly bound wraps. Her sharp eyes had snapped up to find her mother's amusedly probing gaze examining Mary's blank features. "It must seem strange to not be trailed by your beloved Richard. Why!" She exclaimed, giggling to herself at the thought. "You seem almost lifeless without him!" At that, Mary's brows creased together in consternation.

Elizabeth took up the thread on that. "Why Mary, could you be interested in Richard?" She asked mockingly, the corners of her wine-stained lips were curled in a smirk.

In exasperation, Anthony stood up and released a sigh of measured disinterest, the legs of his seat squeaking painfully against the ground. "What does this have to do with whatever you have summoned us for?" His hand was raised in a questioning manner, yet Mary could see from the corner of her eye the strong clenched hand next to her.

Their lady mother answered the question with a crisp voice, "Everything."

"You see," Elizabeth took a dainty sip from her goblet before letting it down unto the table. "Mary has already reached a marriageable age, one which we can take advantage of now."

"Whatever could you mean? There are no longer any high ranking bachelors for Mary to marry." Anthony exclaimed.

"Well, there is Richard. But it seems that any of the York brothers are unmanageable for me, as indicated by Edward. He wishes for them to marry a foreign noble, so as to maintain a good relationship with the other kingdoms from the Continent." Elizabeth sighed. "Such a shame then, isn't it Mary?"

Anthony interrupted whatever else Elizabeth was going to say on the matter. "What is it that you mean? As I have already said before, I cannot think of any other noble that is close to Mary's age."

At that, Lady Jacquetta let out a disappointed tsk and fixed a pitying expression on Anthony. "Anthony, I haven't seemed to have raised you right. You seem to have forgotten a prince."

"Are you suggesting Mary will marry a European prince? How will that help you keep Edward's throne?" Both Mary and Anthony at this point were lost.

"It will help us to intercept any plans that could be made against us and therefore eliminate their claim on the throne."

"But who is this prince you are referring to?"

"Prince Edward of Westminster." All eyes turned to Mary at her quiet interjection. "That is who you are referring to, are you not?" The hard set of her lips were chiselled with a stony challenge.

Anthony's expression morphed into one of horror and disgust. "You would marry her to that monster? What would you stand to gain with it? He is no longer a prince."

"There is no longer any point in having to question Edward's decision on having Mary wed the false prince." Lady Jacquetta calmly chided him. "The negotiations have begun already and have almost been completed."

"Do you not mean, lady mother, Elizabeth's decision?" Anthony asked pointedly.

"And you have not consulted me? The victim of this whole scheme?" Mary said, a steely tone of anger slicing through her words. Her eyes snapped up to look at Elizabeth, her viridescent eyes aflame with wrath.

"Why would we need to? You are meant to be quiet in this whole arrangement, like a respectable woman." Lady Jacquetta stated.

At that, Mary's brows arched quizzically. "So you do not refer to yourself as a respectable woman? You were never quiet in stating your opinion to Father-" All present winced. "And were never afraid to give him orders."

"What are you trying to imply?" The intensely sharp tone of Lady Jacquetta's voice was dulled only by the hard set of her jaw.

Despite her earlier incident, Mary was not fazed by her mother's quiet wrath nor was she intimidated by it in that moment. "I am not trying to imply anything, lady mother." She replied, faux humour dripping endlessly from her assaulted lips. "Only that you contradict the statement you preach."

Elizabeth's eyes flashed in fury. "How dare you, you insolent girl!" She lunged to get to her, but was stopped by the bark of their mother's voice.

"Elizabeth!"

Mary was unfazed by the whole debacle, only clenching her hands tighter before answering in a measured voice. "I dare because both you and mother presumed that I find such an arrangement tolerable. You think me weak," Mary spat the word, slowly losing a grip on her composure in her wrath. "You think me submissive that I will unassumingly accept the marriage offer which you have engineered for me for your own gains! I am not some pale faced maiden, that you can govern and push and pull on a whim. If it was a marriage to a milk sop of a man, I might have endured such an arrangement but to such a monster?" Tears were beginning to leak from her eyes wide open and her voice cracked.

"I do not believe that you had orchestrated this union out of love nor respect for me. What is it that made you think that I would allow such a union between myself and that false prince? I do not think-"

Sudden chills were what she felt ebbing and running over her skin, warmth escaping. Mary's lips quivered as she felt the chill raise the fine, delicate hairs of her arms. A quiet whistle crescendoed into a rich wolf's howl, causing her stomach to turn violently in an attempt to internalise the fear- the fear of what is to come.

The room was eerily quiet, as if everything had frozen around her. She felt a slight gust of wind blow past her ear, prompting her to slowly turn her head towards its source of origin, her breaths shallowing by the second. Over her shoulder, flickering shadows were the only movements she could see. She turned to face her sister and her mother, both of whom were looking at her with blank stares. Her gaze dropped to her lady mother's lips, as they moved almost imperceptibly, forming words in a voice that was not her own.

" _Whatever you choose to do now, your path will neither stray nor change."_ A velvet-like voice whispered into her ear, flowing through like honey dripping languidly. Her eyes widened at the familiarity of it, a voice that reminded her of her vision in an abbey from years ago. _"You are to be put on the altar beside Edward of Westminster."_

It was with those words that she felt as if she was plunged into frigid waters, cold as the stares of ladies whose suitors' gazes swerve to her direction. She could only emerge from them when her brother's grip on her arm had tightened in an attempt to draw her out. "Mary!" He had called to her in rare urgency.

Her attention was regained by those in the room. Mary could feel the curious stare of her mother, her sister's furious one and the tight grip of her brother.

She did not like this feeling, of feeling imbalanced and restrained. In an abrupt manner, she stood from the table and pulled her arm away from her brother. Walking towards the fireplace to warm herself, she stared into the leaping of the flames as she uttered her next words. "Whether you need this or not, I shall acquiesce to your wishes and I will agree to marry Edward of Westminster." She pronounced quietly, a sinking feeling in her soul made her feel as if she was drowning herself once again, only in deeper and darker waters. As she said those words, she was ashamed to admit that it rendered her lachrymose, unwanted tears escaped from her eyes. It was fortunate indeed that she was faced towards the fireplace, that neither her mother or her sister could see her weakness.

"But it doesn't mean that I desire this match; I do not wholly agree with it. I only agree with this arrangement for the betterment of our family, our survival and safety." She declared with grit, her tone unchallenged. She turned to them, eyes ablaze with caged determination. "I only do this because I hold hope that he will not be a brute, like previous suitors you gleefully arrange for me." _Or Warwick_ were words that hung heavy between the occupants of the room.

"But you have to understand," Lady Jacquetta's voice cooly cut into the stuffy atmosphere. "These arrangements, these plans are to be kept secret until we say so. We cannot have Warwick interfering with those plans, lest he gets his youngest daughter to marry Westminster first."

Amidst this revelation of plans, Anthony had sat quiet, wrothful feelings stewed unchecked inside of him. His clenched fists were scarlet with effort and cheeks pinking in vexation. "You will allow her to marry that brute?" He roared, unable to hold back on his temper. Elizabeth was taken aback, having never seen her brother like that towards her; their mother was unmoved through it all. "She was never groomed to anticipate a marriage to this scale, yet you insist and expect that she will stomach this with grace? You are to send her to a court where she will have no friends, little family and a copious number of enemies! Should this not be evidence enough that such an engagement be broken? She will be murdered before the first month of her landing has been concluded!"

"Why should we not assume that Edward could be taken with her? Is she not sister to the infamous beauty that is your sister, the Queen of England?" Lady Jacquetta was unimpressed by her son's attempt to break the engagement.

"Yes, but Edward of Westminster may not be charmed so easily."

"Perhaps, but all men are the same." A small sip was taken from her previously neglected goblet of wine, her lips stained a bright vermillion, like freshly shed blood. "Men are so easily seduced by the sight of a pretty woman and bewitched by the comfort and pleasure we offer. I say that I do not believe a young, inexperienced man could resist one of the Rivers' girls, I have yet to meet a man who could say that they have."

The creases in Anthony's forehead deepened and he sighed deeply at the thought of the departure of his most beloved sister. "On the occasion her engagement becomes a success, I insist that I am to be made part of her household. I intend to be released from my duties on England and have my responsibilities entailing Mary." He forcefully entreated.

Elizabeth's brow raised at the decisiveness of her brother's quick decision whilst their mother eyed him with confused curiousity. "You need not dictate to us your demands, consider them fulfilled already. On the event Mary's betrothal is to be officiated, her household would have already been rallied. Lady Anne Neville is to serve as one of her ladies-in-waiting, to keep her father from marrying her to dear Richard." A smirk was donned by their mother at that. "I have yet to decide the rest of her household, but rest assured, it will be ready by then."

"And what incentive has been offered? What was it that enticed them to continue negotiations to marry Mary?" Anthony asked, sickening at the response that might come.

"As part of Mary's dowry, Edward of Westminster has been offered the title of the Duke of Lancaster."

Both Mary and Anthony's jaws hung open at that. "But, it would mean that he is a bigger threat in England. You gave them power to try to raise influence, to infiltrate our fragile court!" Anthony cried out.

"No, we give them bait, the opportunity to be lured here to England with the facade of safety and welcome. With them so far away from the French court, their power is diminished. Little army, little friends and our family to get close to them," Lady Jacquetta's fingers snapped. "They will be demolished in no time at all."

"So be it. If I cannot dissuade you from pursuing such madness, then I shall take my leave." And so Anthony stormed out of the room, unable to continue listening to what destructive plans his family had to hold onto power.

"So it may be that I will be going into a marriage which I know will dismantled almost immediately." Mary's voice cracked, feeling very much used. "And I will be leaving England for however long it will take them to accept the idea that they may not be killed, but that they will."

She could not, she cannot! Mary knew should this marriage be entertained, her hands will be stained with blood- that she will be a murderer of her own accord. To leave a court which she has called home for some years now and to leave friends (Richard) behind… the thought of so much to let go of was distressing.

"Excuse me," She asked calmly without a response as she escaped the room with dampening cheeks, thin cold fingers fidgeting with the heavy doorknob.

Richard's sitting room was only a short traverse away, but it felt like she had to trek miles to arrive there. No sobs made her tremble, only singular streams of tears that trickled off her face, glazing her pallor with a dulling lustre.

The brass door knob was as familiar to her as her own, each dip in the metal work melding into her hand. She was ready to soak in the warmth that was plenteous in his sitting room, to sink her aching feet into the softness of the carpets she insisted he acquired ("For you to add some colour into this wretchedly dull chamber!"), to stare and contemplate endlessly into his fire undisturbed. Instead, she was welcomed by a frigidly burning fire and an unfamiliar figure standing in the middle of the room.

Mary quickly wiped the tears away from her paling features and cleared her throat. The sound echoed across the room and prompted the unknown person to turn towards her. "What is it you are doing here? Has my Lord Richard invited you in?"

"Lady Mary?" The voice was eerily familiar and it was so familiar that Mary was afeared to confirm who it was that was in the room with her. The figure turned round to reveal the well-composed and made-up Lady Blanche. "I did not expect you to be here." She stated bluntly, her blank glaucous gaze boring into Mary's tormented soul. "Pray tell, would you happen to be aware of Richard's whereabouts? I have been searching for him, for some company you understand. But it seemed that he has slipped past me."

 _Ah, he was avoiding her._ Mary felt a sliver of amusement, but deigned to snap back. "That would be Lord Richard to you, my Lady. You forget that you are not intimates." Mary informed her, her brow raising in challenge.

"Yet." Lady Blanche added, her mood undampened. "But then you yourself also forget that neither yourself nor Lord," She emphasised the title, as if to mock Mary. "Richard are bound to each other in matrimony. So tell me, why is it that you are in one of his private quarters without his permission?"

"I am here because he allows me to be so. I am his sister-in-law by marriage, therefore I am accounted as one of his kin. It is not a crime nor a scandal to be close to one's kin, is it my Lady?"

"No, it isn't," She agreed. "But to be too close would be a mortal sin and my Lord Richard and yourself are not truly blood bound. It is only by law that we recognise you to be related." Lady Blanche strolled towards her with elegantly measured steps and peered at her as she got closer. "So why would you presume to be related?"

"We are so why should we not?- But is not Richard given the freedom to choose who he will and will not receive into the sacred privacy of his chambers? It is with this thought that you are trespassing." Mary said pointedly, unperturbed by Lady Blanche's jabs to poke for scandal. "Do you not know when you are wanted or not?" Mary asked in soft but sharp tones.

It permeated the silence between them, the thick cold air that circulated the room. Lady Blanche observed Mary's unmoving figure for a few moments more before saying, "You know then of my intentions for the Duke. Why is it that you do not dissuade me from my advances?"

Of all the statements she could have said, this was one that Mary did not expect. "Whatever could you mean?" Mary asked, perplexed at such a question.

At the sight of her bewildered expression, Lady Blanche could not contain the laughter that erupted from within her. "You have not admitted it to yourself then? And Lord Richard has not brought it up at all? You are both fools then, so blind to see what is so evident in front of you!- How pitiful, indeed!" She cried in hollow, bland ecstasy. She turned her back in an almost violent fashion as she made her way to a window at the end of the room, as if to look out for him.

"My Lady, are you well? You are not making sense!" Mary vocalised, clearly scandalised at the display the Lady was making (even if it was within private quarters).

But Lady Blanche was not dissuaded by the confusion exuded by Mary. "What are your designs upon Richard?" Lady Blanche asked forwardly, taking advantage of a disoriented Mary. Her gaze pierced through her, probing for any detail that could fully answer her query.

"What?"

"Do you have any intention or wish to marry him?"

"No, I do not. These are not questions that you are permitted to ask me; you who are not even someone I call a friend or family. What gives you the right to demand answers to questions I do not even think about?" Mary asked, enraged by a breach in her privacy. "Richard is merely a friend, nothing more." She stated, uncertainty etched in the cracks of her facade.

"Should that be the case," Lady Blanche started, her sentence building in confidence. "I desire to marry Lord Richard."

Mary was startled by the sudden declaration. "My apologies, but if it is your wish to marry Richard, I do not understand what this has to do with me."

"Do you not? Well, I suppose I am not surprised at hearing that, you act as if you are unaware of your surroundings on occasion." Lady Blanche replied, unaffected.

"But what of Thomas Harcourt? Is he not courting you?"

"Thomas Harcourt?" She let out a laugh at that, as if the idea of him courting her was amusingly absurd. "He is untitled, has little inheritance and very few connections. My dear Lady Mary, it would be suicidal for a respectable woman such as I to even consider a union with a nobody."

"But what little connections he has are very influential, even a woman as respectable as yourself must see their worth."

Lady Blanche ignored Mary's interjection and carried on. "I do not think highly of him at all. He is unrefined, poor and boisterous. Hardly cut from a noble cloth; his crudely cut character will be a stain upon the good name of Depenser and what little fortune he has will not add to my own. Furthermore, his status is far beneath mine and he lacks a title. What is it he will bring then into our marriage other than poverty and unrefinement?" Lady Blanche challenged her.

Mary was not intimidated by her. "He would bring affection and joy to the lucky lady who would wed him. To many, that is fortune enough."

"Yet you have not married him yourself." She observed closely, causing Mary to blush lightly.

"I do not understand what it is that you begrudge Thomas, but you would be sorely mistaken to do so. Take care to remember my words, he will make his fortune soon."

"What fortune?" She scoffed, the thought was simply too absurd. "When he is to be ordained as a priest soon?"

"You'll see." The ambiguity of Mary's sentence nearly broke Lady Blanche's composure and certainly frustrated her.

"Thomas Harcourt's position in court or situation in life will never improve, he is not worthy of becoming wealthier or more powerful!" Lady Blanche spat out in spite.

The malice in her words were enough to push Mary out of the sitting room. "If that is your opinion, then I shall take my leave." She uttered blankly. "I bid you a good day, my lady."

Despite Lady Blanche calling after her, Mary turned her back to the lady in question and ignored her summons. The heavy entrance easily swung under her grasp, allowing for a simple escape from the taxing lady.

So challenging were her interactions with Lady Blanche that Mary soon felt beads of sweat running down her hairline and collecting at the base of her throat, despite the enduringly cold wind that blew against her. What is it that Lady Blanche found so desirable in Richard as a husband? Is she not already mistress of one of the greatest fortunes on England?

Clearly her own fortune did not fully satisfy her, that she needed more. Mary's walking pace seemed to have sped up without her conscious knowledge. Coils of gold whipped across her face, leaving in its wake white gashes that painted her face a paler shade. Her hands- they were trembling so violently it seemed impossible for them to stop.

She was approaching another turn and a distance away, she could hear a gaggle of men chattering, a deep laugh rising above the commotion being made. The topic, she could not decipher. The wind seemed to pick up speed and the sun was already beginning to set at an alarming rate, sinking into the horizon and submerging all the light with it.

She turned the sharp corner with unusual vigour, her hands still fidgeting from the stress and the nervous energy that has been surrounding her since her earlier incident.

 _Strange, to think that it had occured only a few hours ago but so much has happened since._

Her composure and tightly bound plaits were beginning to unravel, coming apart quickly and without her consent. The thought of The Incident, her impending (and unavoidable) nuptials and the thought of the unassailed advances of Lady Blanche towards Richard without his knowledge were weighing heavy on her young mind. The wind expelled stronger gusts, whistling in its speed resembling the horrors that have plagued her mind for some time.

Her pace quickened suddenly as if she felt the presence of the beast of her nightmares chasing her. Heartbeats hastened, tripping over itself in copious amounts that it affected its mistress to falling herself over a loose stone. A gasp was let forth, leaving her to tumble unto the ground.

Until she felt strong hands gripping her by her forearms so tightly that it sparked feelings of anxiety so strong that she fiercely fought the urge to immediately pull and shrink away from her saviour's clutch.

"Careful, Mary! You wouldn't want to fall over and have your preparations fall to uselessness now, would you?" The voice chuckled to themselves, the intensity of their amusement vibrating through them that even Mary could feel it through her loosening clutch. "Are you ready for supper?"

The familiarity of the voice no longer shocked her, seeing as the company of men that have long since dispersed were his usual company (the loud boisterous laugh that she realised was the doing of Thomas Harcourt should have been the prime indicator). Mary felt herself flinching at the steadying grip of Richard, who felt himself being shed of all contact from her as she moved back away from him.

"Quite."

The emotionally devoid reply was enough for Richard to become suspicious of her behaviour. In his awakening, he looked at her, truly looked at her. It was only in that moment that it occurred to him that her attire was her earlier one, she hadn't changed her garments. The mud drenched hem was dry now, forming patterns that grotesquely resembled aged snakeskin. Her hair was no longer in its earlier arrangement, rather with its wildly loose waves it was a picture of disarray and se- Richard swallowed and mentally scolded himself for even attempting to venture that particular avenue of thought.

And her face… it was a pitiful sight, indeed.

Crusted tracks of old tears ran evidently etched upon her unhealthily pale visage. Her eyes- oh, her eyes!- were missing the radiant gleam that he most admired about them; they lacked their usual vitality and unfocused, constantly glancing around furtively. Lips frightfully pale, despite the bruises that adorned them.

His brows creased together in deep thought. "What is it that has come to pass in my absence from your side?" He asked quietly, his gaze staying steadily upon her figure. Mary inched further away from him, her expression remaining mild. His hand itched to latch unto hers, but she was a distance away, making it impossible to do without sparking rumours.

She stayed silent, gnawing at her lip in thoughtful agony. She could not reveal to him the intimate details of her possible nuptials to the false prince, no doubt his brother or her sister would take care of that. It became apparent that she was wordless for far too long when his voice fluidly slipped through her thoughts, like rivulets cascading gracefully into a lake. "Let us take a turn about the gardens before we head into the dining hall. It will be unbearably stifling, so we must enjoy the cold while it lasts."

He did not wait for a response, only surging forwards and gently moulding his hand into hers, taking her by surprise as she flinched. She pulled her hand away from his, an apologetic glance aimed at the floor. This sudden reflex thoroughly perplexed him. Never before had she reacted that way to his touch.

"Mary," He sighed her name, willing her to open up to him. When no response came, he took a deep breath and uttered, "Follow me."

Turning his back away from her, he strolled towards the general direction of the gardens. The first few steps he took, he could hear his own apprehension at leaving; his doing this did not guarantee that she would follow him. The relief that soothed the fear he was feeling was sorely welcomed as he heard the quiet clicks of her shoes trailing after his steps, coaxing a small smile from him.

"Mary, what-"

His gentle inquiry was swiftly cut off by Mary's. "What are your thoughts on Lady Blanche?" Her voice was unusually high and squeaky, as if she was not quite so comfortable with this line of conversation. She had stood up from the marble bench upon which both she and Richard had previously been sitting on and proceeded to a nearby bush that was only beginning to shed its auburn leaves, fingering its delicately dry ornaments.

"My thoughts on the Lady Blanche?" Richard repeated, unbelieving what it was that she had uttered. His brows became quizzical and his fingers knotted together.

"Yes, your thoughts."

He took a long deep sigh, before tackling the somewhat dubious question presented to him. "Well, it is clear from her manners and speech that she is a well-educated lady as well as one that many would consider to be a valuable prospective bride." Pangs of a foreign feeling rang through her chest. "She is quite easy on the eyes, but I would not go so far so as to say that she is an English beauty. There is something about her features that I find distinctively lacking. Perhaps it is a spark of vivacity."

He wore a thoughtful expression, when Mary had turned back to look at him during his period of pausing. He caught her gaze falling upon him. "What is it that had prompted you to ask me this rather peculiar question?"

"Did you know that she intent on marrying you?" She asked monotonously, avoiding his eyes.

A bark of amusement had escaped from Richard's lips, turning into a hearty laugh. "Dearest, almost every eligible woman in England hopes to be a royal duchess. They've lost their chance when George was married to one of Warwick's daughters and so they will naturally set their sights upon me. You know this already, this is old news." He reminded her fondly.

But she remained insistent. "But she is serious, madly serious. It is as if she was on a war campaign to earn you as her spoils."

An easy smile remained on Richard's features. "Come sit down Mary and I will explain something to you." He patted the empty space beside him for emphasis. She moved fluidly and unhesitating to sit beside him, thought still somewhat keeping her distance. He did not try to move any closer, having understood that she desired little contact. "My dearest Mary, I understand your great concern for me but do not fear. I am older now and I can make my own decision about such things. Naturally you are also afraid of what will happen to us when I shall submit myself to the prison of matrimony. Nothing will have to change between us, we can still continue to be ourselves. You will still be the most important woman in my life, as you will always be. I won't ever forget my vow to you of Loyalté me lie."

"I do not imagine that your wife will be very happy with that." A relieved smile bubbling upon Mary's visage.

"No, I don't suppose she will, but it will not matter. You are as much a part of me as I am you. She'll have to accept you and should she not, then she is not worthy of being my wife."

"What if I am to have a husband? What then?" She asked quietly, as the night had crept on and in the silent darkness, their heads had moved closer together.

He snorted. "Dearest Mary, he will have to be a king or a prince for me to even consider his being worthy of being in your company. For him to have your hand, it will be a greater challenge for him to face." Sudden bouts of anxious feelings banged against her ribs as she suddenly wondered if Richard was aware of her pending engagement to the false prince.

But his quiet declaration of how much she was worth in his mind was certainly heartwarming and her eyes closed together in sheer bliss in knowing how much she meant to him. She felt herself leaning forward, fingers shyly creeping upon the ties and the fur lining of his cloak, feeling the softness they offered and the warmth they promised. The warmth of his breath sent tingles across every inch of her skin. She leaned in closer to become better acquainted with this euphoric sentiment, feeling a warm ghostly caress of his lips upon hers and she was able to get a glimpse of how married life would shape to be...

* * *

A/N: I think I've given up on regularly updating. I'm seriously failing Math and now I'm going to have to endure a whole Christmas season of Math. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this 7,600 word chapter (fingers crossed that I'll get the next one up and running sooner) and thank you all for the reviews! They gave me the motivation to continue, not only this story, but also in my schoolwork so thanks guys! Shout out also to floridoleslie for reminding me to update. I was meant to do so yesterday, but it was my birthday, so my parents took me out to Cheesecake Factory and I'd forgotten all about it until I sat on my desk to do so.

Don't forget to leave a review on how I can improve or maybe just a general review on what you think's going to happen or how you're enjoying the story. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!

Cheers, Nemo


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Mary dreamt of nothing else but chapels. She could feel her dream self looking round to find the looming stone walls of an unfamiliar chapel standing over her and the dust fell softly over her, like snowflakes descending on a cold winter's night. Soft beams of coloured light streamed from the stained windows, the chapel's only source of light apart from the weak flames of candles cowering in chosen corners.

The altar at the end was dusky and poorly lit. The figure of the bridegroom was a clothed in dark swathes of fabric and shadowed, making it difficult for her to identify them. Their anonymity frightened her, even more that she began to realise that she was making her way _towards_ the altar. Mary willed her legs to move back, forcing them to stop even, but they moved of their own accord towards the frightening unknown.

In terror, she looked to the sides of the chapel and found blank-faced guards looking on at her effortless struggle towards the altar. She tried to cry for help, but no sound would come out and her lips would not move.

She looked down at herself.

Garbed in a opulent cotehardie of cobalt blue, it was secured around her waist with a gold-leaf leather belt and fastened with the most hideously ostentatious buckle she had ever laid her eyes upon. In her hands, a bouquet of red lilies surrounded by a bounty of dill. The arrangement felt sticky in her hands, quite probably due to her sweat. She felt a headdress sitting upon her piled up curls, draped over with a fine white muslin that tickled her hairline.

Inching closer and closer to the altar, she was beginning to get a better view of the bridegroom, no longer being kept behind the dark veil the chapel was determined to keep drawn. She saw the insignia behind him, an assortment of different sized fleur-de-lys were displayed proudly behind him.

Eyes widening, she fought to remove herself from this nightmare. Teeth grit against each other, fingers scratching each other to rid themselves of the flowers, to drop it. Eyes screwed themselves shut to escape it.

No…

This is not happening….

Blood rushing to her ears, screaming for release from this conceived hell.

She took a couple more steps, then cautiously took another glance around her. It was not the same chapel, with the previous chapel having been more intimidating in its ornamentation. This one was more intimate and had a lighter spirit. Brilliant streams of light delicately streamed into the chapel and at the end of the altar, the bridegroom was once again shrouded, this time by his own doing, with his back to her. Squinting, she could make out a head of dark curls.

With trepidation, she looked down upon herself and found a dress of ivory silk adorning her figure. Her vision was clouded by a veil made of the most delicate lace she had ever been privileged to touch that continued to mar and decorate her vision, both of the altar and of the bridegroom. Her bouquet of flowers consisted of both white and red roses, their stems loosely entwining and dethorned.

A hand came up to her arm and a resonant, familiar voice inquired of her. "Are you ready?" No, she wasn't, and they tried to get her attention by calling her.

"Mary?"

She hummed her feelings of agitation away, fully engrossed in her task of finishing her sewing project as she tried to finish her breakfast. Her fingers fiddled nervously with the corners of her cloth as the needle deftly pricked the fabric and made stitch after stitch into neat rows with which she was taught since childhood. Her favourite cloak was laid across her shoulders, precariously hanging off of her frame that one would think it would fall of its own accord. The breakfast that was laid before them all consisted of overflowing baskets of fresh fruits and bowls of steaming porridge, with milk and honey to sweeten its bitter taste. Mary hadn't touched hers yet and had no intention of doing so in the near future.

"Mary?" A gentle, reticent pat was felt upon her cloak-clad shoulder.

She could only hum in response. Whilst Richard and Mary sat together for their meals, outside of it they did not converse anymore. They could not. Their conversations became stilted and they avoided the other so much that it became almost detrimental to their health that they no longer had as much interactions with each other than they did before.

Anthony had noted the week before (and come to think of it, so had Thomas Harcourt) that her appearance had become reminiscent of a White Lady or Death itself with her constantly paling appearance (as white as the copious snow that fell outside) that made her flaxen locks appear darker and her look of torpidity. It was fortunate indeed that Thomas Harcourt had not been at the receiving end of her arrow when he had noted it.

* * *

" _Mary?" Anthony called to her, her back firmly set against any view of him. Her stance was as taut as the bow that she was handling, her eyes squinting to get a better shot at the target. He was sitting upon the marble bench situated behind her, sharpening the dagger in his hand._

" _What is it, Anthony?" She uttered quietly, not wanting to break her concentration just to humour whatever thought it was he wanted to indulge her in._

 _A deep breath he took before exhaling the question he has been keeping to himself for a deathly long while. "It's about Lord Richard."_

 _She wobbled only slightly, losing her stance at the sound of the name before recomposing herself. "What about him?" She said, in an oddly calm voice._

" _I hardly see you two together, since news of a possible binding was made known to us." Anthony stated, stopping his task for a moment to look up at his sister. "Does he know of the engagement? What has transpired between the two of you?"_

 _She waved away any of his concerns, seemingly unconcerned. "He has made no indication that he is aware of such an arrangement." She blinked away the bleariness in her vision, after staring for so long. "And nothing has happened. It just seems that he has become more preoccupied in his duties and as have I, so it is only during mealtimes that we are together."_

" _But you are not talking. Forgive me, freely is the term I am looking for. You are not talking as freely with each other. Has he tried to become more intimate with you? Is it the reason for your unhealthy pallor of late?" He prodded unwisely._

 _From that day onwards, he learned not to question his sister whilst she was in possession of a weapon that she was well-acquainted with._

 _She could almost imagine that it was both Richard and herself sitting upon that bench, those days and nights ago._

 _But his quiet declaration of how much she was worth in his mind was certainly heartwarming and her eyes closed together in sheer bliss in knowing how much she meant to him. She felt herself leaning forward, fingers shyly creeping upon the ties and the fur lining of his cloak, feeling the softness they offered and the warmth they promised. The warmth of his breath sent tingles across every inch of her skin. She leaned in closer to become better acquainted with this euphoric sentiment, feeling a warm ghostly caress of his lips upon hers ._

 _She felt an ardent emotion blazing and scorching through her as they had inched closer to each other, squeezing the fur lining upon his cloak to quell the emotion that both satisfied and scared her. But when they were a hair's breadth away from each other, Richard suddenly blinked and became more aware of the situation. A rapid flutter of eyes and he was suddenly pulling himself violently away from her._

 _Had she done something wrong?_

 _He muttered words to her, ones that she felt were incomprehensible to her until this moment, when she had looked back upon it. "I sincerely apologise for taking advantage of you when you are most vulnerable. I do not know what it is that has come over me. I shall take my leave of you now. Good evening." A curt, unfeeling apology was all she caught before she realised he had left her all alone in the cold, confused._

 _Neither of them had attended supper that evening._

* * *

"Yes, Richard?" She responded in a clipped tone, her lips were pursed together in displeasure at having her concentration being compromised by a likely simple inquiry. Despite her perseverance at trying to keep her hands steady, they shook themselves against her will.

It was likely the nervousness that had overtaken the court that day (despite Mary's deeply hidden excitement at Anne's arrival) as they anticipated the arrival of the Nevilles as even Richard's voice was quivering slightly, however much he tried to school his features and maintain a calm demeanour. Despite her family's involvement in Father and John's deaths, Mary could not truly fault Anne for them. She could only place her impassioned hate on the Earl himself. "Will you accompany me later on, when receiving Warwick and his family?"

She gnawed her lip in thought as Mary poured herself a generous cup of water and finally resolved to deign to give him an answer. "As you wish." She replied curtly, her eyes avoiding his entirely.

All around them, nervous knocks of cutlery echoed throughout the hall as the number of courtiers breaking their fast had dwindled. "Mary?"

She hummed back in response, eager to get Richard from continuously distracting her. "Please try to eat some of your porridge. You are beginning to worry me with how little you are consuming." He whispered pleadingly to her. She knew it was useless to try to avoid his request (as obstinate as he was), which she had indulged his whims by putting down her project and reluctantly took up her spoon and sipped it.

She took several spoonfuls before she could see from the corner of her eye, Richard's ever present gaze upon her had softened with relief. The tender moment of silent compliance from her part had ended so abruptly that when she had thought about it later, it made her head spin violently.

"My Lady! My Lady!"

The urgent whispers had alerted her at once, her head whipping round to see who it was that was calling. "My Lady Mary!" The manservant James had identified her at once, sending her spoon rattling into her wooden bowl. In her presence, he had bowed a deep bow and she lowered her eyes in acknowledgement, her lips playing down a rising smile. When he had risen up from it, his eyes had caught the piercing gaze of her companion watching his every move.

"Your Grace." He didn't bow as deeply to him, but it would have to do for the moment when urgency had called.

"I have been sent to inform My Lady Mary and Lord Richard," James had added, as if as an afterthought. "Of the impending arrival of the Earl of Warwick and his family. They have been sighted not a quarter of an hour from here."

Mary looked to Richard to see if he has heard the message, which the slight cock of his head had informed her thus. "Also, I bear a message from the King for My Lady Mary to send for the Queen to receive the coming visitors."

"Gramercy, James." She said, before turning her head to reach for her goblet of water. Pale columns of skin wrapped themselves round her goblet and brought it to her face, her lips shy of reaching the cool beverage when she had been interrupted.

"May I be so bold so as to say, My Lady?" James asked her. "That you look radiant today."

The compliment brought roses blooming upon her cheeks and a grateful smile wedging itself through the mask she had wore in that morning. She could not say anything in return except gave him a slight nod in dismissal. As she watched James' retreating figure, Mary made to finish her breakfast. Rising from her seat, she felt a tentative brush of familiar rough fingers against her hand.

"I'll wait for you at the entrance."

* * *

Mary knew that she was not very ladylike in her haste to alert her sister of the arrival of the Nevilles, but in that moment, she couldn't care less about what courtiers were to say about her.

By the time she arrived at her doorstep, she was breathing heavily and her hair was unkempt, almost bordering on savage. She could feel each strand wishing to be freed from their restrictive arrangement, each metallic pin digging mercilessly into her scalp. Her new maid, Lucy, was quite new to the role. A poor replacement to Joan, Mary thought sadly. It felt as though she had to begin again: renew relationship, adjust to the awkwardness of having her privacy exposed and the loss of a life-long companion.

She felt as if her sister had done this intentionally, to drive the knife deeper into the wound. With her appearance seemingly only satisfactory, Mary tried to smoothen down the strays stubbornly standing, but eventually relented to their wild spirit. Inhaling deeply and feeling the gelid air assault her lungs, she gave three distinct knocks upon the smooth wood.

"Enter!"

A forceful push sent the chamber door swinging open. The sudden movement caused her sister to sit up upon receiving Mary into the room, who walked in with an air of cool calmness, tainted with nervousness.

"Good morrow, sister."

Elizabeth nodded her head in acknowledgement as well as in greeting, though her eyes trailed Mary's figure in wary alertness. Her daughters remained unaware of the sudden imbuement of tension which suffocated the room. Mary's hands fell on top of each other upon her lap as she stood at the foot of the bed.

"I thought that you would have liked to have heard from someone from our family, but Warwick and his family are arriving."

In shock at the suddenness of the news delivered, Elizabeth's eyes widened. "How long until they arrive?" As she asked, she stood and wandered to behind her dressing screen. At her sudden departure to behind the dressing screen, Mary felt her stomach suddenly lurch at what her sister could have in store for her. With her silence and lack of response, Elizabeth peered round her screen, shoulders bare.

"Did you not hear me? Or are you daydreaming about your impending engagement?"

At poorly hidden prod, Mary's temper was spiked and her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, nails bruising scarlet lines across her palms. "They have been sighted not a quarter of an hour from the palace. The King has charged me with summoning you to the entrance, to welcome the family." She forced out between clenched teeth.

"And what will be the retribution for the lack of my presence?"

Mary shrugged, not quite understanding why her sister asked this of her, and swallowed deep breaths to control her temper as she felt heat spreading across her cheeks. "Nothing, I suppose. You both answer to each other and I am just the messenger to deliver his request."

By the end of it, Elizabeth had already appeared from behind the screen, her hair tumbling loose across her shoulders. Long, lithe fingers smoothened imaginary creases in the soft folds of her dark, silken brocade garment.

"Should that be the case, then you can tell His Majesty that I shall not receive them with him, that I shall instead receive the ladies in my sitting room. And you can be the one to bring them there."

Elizabeth turned her back to Mary, the gesture a strong message for her dismissal. And Mary, knowing her place, did not argue and left the room.

As she half-ran to the entrance of the palace, she pinched her cheeks to bring colour back to them and her own fingers to allow some feeling to return. Tucking the flyaways that stood wispily on the edges of her hairline, she grabbed the fur-lined edges of her hood and pulled it over her head until it was well past her crown. Marching up to the entrance, the doorwardens were alerted of her presence and nodding at each other, opened the doors.

Mary shivered, the gusts of bitter winter chill flew in without warning. Outside the doors, she spied Richard standing behind his brother, the King, as the Nevilles' entourage came pouring through the castle gates. One by one, carriages and horsemen flowed through like ants crawling after each other.

"Richard!"

She only half whispers it, the sound lost between the enduring winds and the riot being made by the Warwick family's arrival. He turned his head to her calmly, his expression was blank and careful. "Elizabeth will not be coming. She says that she will receive them privately." Mary begins to rub her hands together, the wintry air mercilessly biting at the fingers. Discreetly, Richard could see the movements Mary was making and plunging his hand into the pouch always on him, brought out an extra pair of leather gloves trimmed with squirrel fur and handed it to her.

At the sight of them, Mary smiled faintly and whispered her thanks before making a request. "Richard, could you tell His Majesty that she will not be making an appearance?" Taking the gloves and tugging it forcefully over her frozen fingers, she wriggled the soft leather into place.

"Why can you not tell him yourself? I'm sure he will not put you to death just because his wife will not indulge his request to receive his cousin with him." Richard's voice was in jest, but a shadow of suspicion was hovering over the statement.

"No, of course not." Mary sighed, not wishing to be anywhere near the King. "But my knees are knocking together with the cold and any movements that I will make will see me fall to the ground like I am some frail maiden." She tried to make her whisper exaggerate the chill that she could feel was beginning to set in and permeate the thick wool of her clothing.

He sighed deeply, tendrils of warm air coiling in front of his face, and moved to walk towards his brother. "As you wish, my lady." He said mockingly, even going so far as to bow exaggeratedly with flourish.

With snow and gravel crunching underneath his boots, Richard stood beside his brother with his hands behind his back and tucked under his swarthy cloak of blue. Mary kept her gloved hands in front of her, fingers loosely entwined with each other as a guard stood behind her in the absence of Richard. Whispers and nods were exchanged, as well as meaningful stares traded as they had parted from one another with the Neville family removing themselves from carriages and dismounting from horses.

"He did not mind it much, only asked that you escorted the ladies to where it is the Queen requests to see them." Richard whispered to her as shocks of electric began to fill the air, as the Duke of Clarence was approached by the King himself, the former watching the latter with wide doe eyes.

The Neville clan gathered close to each other as the King approached them. "Welcome to court." His voice betrayed no emotion and next to her, Mary could hear the sound of squelching leather against the handle of a sword.

"Warwick." A slight bow of head was directed towards him. "George." And to him as well.

It was eerily silent, with bated breaths courtiers and guards alike watched as Edward approached the prodigal brother with caution before engulfing him in a warm hug that stunned all, even the recipient. Mary reached up in shock to hold onto Richard's arm.

From her place, Mary could see the women standing behind the Duke were also wrought with surprise. The Duke himself did not look very pleased, only blankly afeared.

With the silence that permeated the entirety of the palace courtyard, it suddenly stunned Mary when the King had boomed to her in a jovial voice, "My Lady Mary, can you please escort the ladies to where it is my wife has summoned them?"

She curtsied in response and exchanged glances with Richard, his mouth in carved into a grim smirk. As she saw the ladies approach her with the late Lady Scales in the lead, Mary twirled around sharply and hiked up the staircase with aching ankles.

Having entered into the building and into the welcome embrace of the heat, she removed the hood from her head and nodded to the ladies, "Follow me." before walking ahead of them.

"Season's greetings, my dear Mary. It has been quite a while." A musical contralto voice said from behind her, tone exuding warmth that was reminiscent of the days before her life at court.

"And to you, Lady Scales. Or must I now call you Countess Warwick?" Mary replied back, almost blandly as she was unsure of what to make of her now.

Courtiers passed them with glances of various emotions. "Now Mary, I have always been Elizabeth to you." She clucked good naturedly, but there was a tone of warning.

"Yes, but I've too many Elizabeths in my life. I might as well begin to distinguish the difference between them all." Mary said back. "I used to call you 'the love of my beloved brother's life', but that title was long and indeed, out of date. Tell me, did it give you pleasure when you had decided to break the engagement between yourself and Anthony?" She spun round so quickly it gave the accompanying ladies a fright.

"No, but-"

"Why had you done it then? Did you know my brother had wallowed in such a sorrowful state it was almost impossible to even get him out of his chambers?" Mary challenged and her voice bordered on a shout, her cheeks flaring in her temper. "I could barely even recognise him." She ended with a pitiful whisper.

"My dear girl, let us walk."

Mary nodded as the Countess took her hand and held it in her own, patting it as they walked side by side towards Elizabeth's sitting rooms. Turning a sharp corner, the Countess looked to her and asked her softly, "Are you ready to hear what I am to tell you?"

She nodded, her cheeks absolved of the evidence of a temper that had arisen. "Your brother had been very vocal in his wish to marry me. And I had been very ready to marry him. But a sennight before the wedding was due to happen, I had heard his drunken slurs. That he could not marry me, that he was only marrying me to distract himself." Mary's gaze of astonishment prompted a rhetorical question. "Distract himself from what? I could not truly know, but I could guess. I suspect that he was already in love with someone, someone he could not have and that he fooled himself into thinking he needed me."

He was very good, I must admit, at fooling himself. But I could not live with myself knowing that I was in love with a man who was desperately in love with someone else who was not me."

By then, the party had already reached the door of the Queen's receiving rooms. The Countess took both of Mary's hands into her own, forcing Mary to truly look at her. She looked much older than the last time Mary had glimpsed her, with wrinkles marring a once smooth milky skin. Her flaxen hair was tucked demurely into an elaborate hennin, with some fine muslin flowing down the side. Her sage green eyes, though small, held a cool and steady depth to them that calmed Mary down.

"Do you know what, Mary?" The Countess asked fondly. "I am only sorry that we could not have been sisters."

Mary had stood outside the chamber doors for a short while before walking towards the celebrations that were occuring in the hall. So deep in thought she was, she did not realise that Richard had been calling to her for some time.

* * *

"My- Mary!" He had called once more.

Mary finally looked up to find Richard looking back at her with guarded amusement. "Richard, what are you doing here?" She hurried up the pace of her steps. "Are you not supposed to be at the celebrations?"

He smirked at her, his fingers prying the leather gloves from each other. "And be ungentlemanly enough not to wait for my lady? Never." His face scrunched up with a jocular expression.

She giggled slightly at the absurdity of the entire situation, but was able to quell them when she felt the awkward silence seep through. Against her will, she felt heat flood into her cheeks, despite some of the cold crawling in from the closed shutters. Her eyes looked round wildly, looking to stare at something else entirely that was not Richard. "Uh-"

"Would you care to accompany me to the hall?" A friendly request at face value but one that left no room for rejection. She felt his gaze piercing through her as if challenging her to deny him, to reject his one friendly request.

"Of course." Mary felt her pride could not take it if she rejected his simple request, but felt falcon's wings beating strongly against the cage that were her ribs. He offered her his arm as a form of courtesy, but she knew at this point it was already instinctual for him to do so to her.

The walk was short, but it felt like aeons had passed. No words had escaped their lips as they made their way to the hall, where silence was a stranger. They had only encountered a few people, but they had only been servants who had been hurrying back to the kitchens to refill their charges.

Music had filled every niche and corner of the grand hall. Mary found herself smiling uncontrollably with the sudden onslaught of euphoric feelings. All around her, courtiers held hands (or wine glasses) and danced around each other to the tune that held dominance over their chatter.

"Mary!"

Her head turned to where the sound had originated. The vociferous voice had been accompanied by the tall, lean figure in the form of her brother, who had been striving to wade past merry, drunk nobles. His hands were tucked behind his back and his cheeks lacked the flush of an inebriated subject. "Hello Anthony!" Mary replied back jovially to her brother. "I see you have not brought me a drink. What kind of brother are you not to encourage his sister to enjoy herself in such a flourishing party?" She prodded him.

In response to her harmless needling, Anthony had chuckled, though it seemed almost pained in response. "Since I myself have begun to restrain myself from such a drink. I do not deny that I had enjoyed myself endlessly with it, but I have decided to have a clearer head when it comes to dealing with such rambunctious functions."

Richard had coughed to himself in shock and Mary had giggled slightly at that, taking a glass filled to the brim with wine from a passing server and taking a sip.

A sudden slap to Richard's back had been heard rather than seen. "Careful there, Richard! Or you might find yourself keeling over your feet and unto your knees. You wouldn't want Mary holding this over your head, that you were begging her for her assistance in a banquet, no less." Thomas Harcourt had boomed, his deep voice rumbling through the high pitched notes of the music. "How mortifying that would be for you!" And he laughed that unrestrained laugh of pure joy, one that only a man who hasn't seen war and remained unburdened could produce.

"Yes, absolutely mortifying." Richard muttered almost darkly, rubbing the pain on his back.

Mary turned to Thomas and found him smiling at everyone pleasantly, though it was a courtier's smile rather than the genuine one that he always donned. "I would like to have the pleasure to introduce my brother and my sister, Sir John Harcourt and Alicia Harcourt."

The aforementioned siblings had made their way forth to the group and bowed to them. All present bowed to the two who had been introduced. "How very lovely it is to meet you Sir John and Lady Alicia." Anthony welcomed. Sir John Harcourt was portly man of almost indistinguishable age and seemed to enjoy the outdoors and his drink, with a flush having made itself known to the party. Lady Alicia was a woman blooming and seemed to be about the Queen's age.

"Yes, it is very lovely to meet you both." Lady Blanche had made her appearance quite suddenly, giving Mary a slight surprise by showing up next to her, drunkenly slurring her words into a lilting voice. "I do not think we have to be introduced to know that you are dear Thomas' siblings. You both seem to have the good physical qualities Thomas lack." She jested cruelly, sending John in hysterical fits, Alicia into blank offence towards her and Thomas' blushing into oblivion.

Mary turned to her, eyes ablaze. "My Lady, what a horrid thing to say! Apolo-" She was cut off quite abruptly.

"My Lady, I have not laughed as much as I have just done in ages. I do not think I have had the pleasure of an introduction." He said smoothly. "I am Sir John Harcourt."

He bowed and as he did so, Lady Blanche had just looked down on him, almost as if in disdain. "I am aware of that." Was her curt reply.

Suddenly the hall had succumbed into a silence, that it seemed no one could even breathe. Mary strained her neck to see what it was that had caused such a silence until people in front of her had begun to part, revealing a way for her sister to pass through. She bowed in respect and so had her companions, as she approached them slowly.

Anthony whispered quietly to her, "Mary, do I have your permission to ask our sister to dance?"

There was no other answer but the answer to give him. "Of course."

Elizabeth's heels had clicked to a halt in front of their brother. From the corner of Mary's bowed head and beyond the veil that had barred her vision, she could see Elizabeth examining Anthony, for what none of the courtiers seemed to know. Her lips were pursed together in a tight line and her eyes moved around his features quizzically. "Would you like to dance, dear sister?" He asked somewhat tenderly.

"No thank you, Anthony." Replied she, turning back to the musicians to start the festive music once more. As the lutes strummed back to life and flutes sang their tunes, Elizabeth strolled away to her throne at the pinnacle of the room.

Mary watched her sister's retreating figure, taking another sip from her neglected wine glass. She continued to stare after her until her reverie was broken by a soothing sound from beside her. "I have something to ask you, Mary." Richard's voice slipped silkily into her ears, a stark contrast to the sharp music being played.

"I am listening." She said, turning to him.

The Countess Warwick and her daughters, Isabel and Anne, had made their way into the hall in that order, with Anne having sent a small wave to Mary and Richard's general direction, only to be quelled by a half-hearted nudge from her sister. She had looked somewhat frightened and distressed, the emotion etched in every corner of her visage. Her sister on the other hand remained mostly blank except for the crease of her brows.

"I have mentioned to you previously as part of the condition that had ended in tragedy," Richard winced slightly, but tried to hide it. "That you were to tour the lands that my dukedom had entailed with me this coming summer."

"Yes, I remember something of that nature." Mary replied evenly, but excitement was bubbling through her that she could hardly believe that she could control it as it pulsed powerfully through her.

He cleared his throat, an itch setting in that she could deduce was becoming overpowering that it prompted Mary to offer him her glass of wine. He accepted it gratefully and took some gulps before continuing. "Then, I would like to request your presence as I tour the lands." He began to stutter his next sentences, through tried to cover up. "I can't think of anyone better to accompany me. It would be dreadfully dull without a companion and I wouldn't want to impose on any other who aren't willing."

Mary was ready to accept, touched that he wanted her to accompany him but then she wondered. "What about Lady Blanche?"

Richard looked perplexed. "What about her?" He replied in a clipped, confused tone.

"Why have you not invited her to come?" Mary elaborated.

"Would you like her to come?" From Richard's eyes, he did not look like he wanted her to come at all.

"That's only if you would like her presence as well."

"I would only really like you to come." Richard replied, then added, "If it would please you, for it would please me greatly."

Mary inwardly sighed in relief. "Then it would please me greatly if I could accompany you."

Apparently, so had Richard as a slow smile of satisfaction had blossomed into his previously blank features. "Then I will begin the arrangements for your entourage to accompany you." He stopped himself. "Or would you like to organise that yourself?"

Mary smiled softly at him, feeling the barriers that have kept them apart these past few weeks recede. "Why not we both organise it? So that you also have an idea of what to expect, rather than be surprised by what I will bring."

"That is an idea I can work with." Richard replied, almost exuberantly.

"My Lord Richard! My Lord Richard!" Lady Blanche's calls could be heard over the loud music and Mary could see that the summons were sending Richard into a spiral of quiet humiliation. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes heavily hooded and some hairs were peeking out from under her conical hennin. "I demand you dance with me."

Richard could not refuse such a forceful demand, lest he tag himself as being an ungentlemanly courtier. Mary could see from the corner of her eye that Thomas certainly looked dismayed at Lady Blanche's outright rejection of him in favour of a wealthier and more powerful subject of her affections.

"I insist that you partner with me for this set!" She cried exigently.

With a deep sigh, Richard held out a reluctant hand that she took with the utmost enthusiasm. As they sauntered (or at least, Lady Blanche did, Richard ambled sensibly) to the dance floor, Mary watched them with a growing ache in her chest. It was as if a cavity had been created that housed an oblivion that could not be filled nor mitigated.

Her wine had been left untouched, after Richard's absence, and so she had disposed of it by depositing it unto a server's tray. From behind her as she watched the couples sway and move to the music, Anthony approached his sister with measured steps, careful not to touch her in the process.

She did not look to him to confirm his identity, she felt his presence take place next to her. "Brother, what is this feeling?" She asked numbly, keeping her eyes trained on the dancing.

Anthony looked to her in amused confusion, his fingers tangling and untangling themselves behind his back. "What feeling, dear sister?"

She seemed not in the mood to indulge the gay sentiments that ran rampant across the hall. She could only stare after those midnight curls that doubly soothed and reminded her of her fears, trapped in a trance that she could not break out of. "This feeling that irrevocably burns and scorches my very being and tears my insides apart, as a chasm of oblivion threatens to demolish them all. And even then, the pain will still be unbearable in such a state." She whispered afflicted with these feelings.

He began to realise what it was she was referring to when he followed her line of sight and then he understood.

'I cannot tell you what it is you are feeling dear sister, for it is something that I am still wary to reveal to myself.'

Those words had been whispered by his conscience and become stuck to his throat as the issue of her impending betrothal brought itself up in his mind and complicated it and so, he never said those words or answered her. He could only remain mute as he agonised over the misfortunes that he foresaw to happen and remained helpless to console his sister in the torment that will invade her life.

* * *

A/N: What do you guys think? Do you guys think that Richard knows about Mary secret betrothal? Tell me what you guys think about it, or what you think is coming or basically anything in general about what you think will happen. I've been really excited to finish this section of the story because according to my plan, we are about to hit some very dangerous waters in the coming segments of it.

To LadyHallows, I am working on quickening the pace. It's going to be increasingly easier I think when we encounter the scenes with battles, because there will be very little room for thought. Thank you for the pointing that out to me!

Cheers, Nemo


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